Some things I just feel like saying:

*Guitar. It is awesome. Pretty much it's my new favorite thing, and I feel sorry for my roommates because they have to listen to me all day. I especially feel bad because I am addicted and it isn't even my guitar. I have to let Ashley take part in the fun because it belongs to her and she's learning just like I am. But pretty much after two days I can almost play two songs. Oh yeah, I win. (I told my mom I wanted a guitar for Christmas and she said that was a good idea. That sounds promising...)

*Writing. For me, it never seems to happen on cue. I try to write something, but it doesn't come out. It only works when there's no point to it, which should make the next two and a half years of school interesting.

*Bugs. They are, quite possibly, one of the things the earth could have done without. Today we found a cockroach, and not just a little itty bitty cockroach like those we've seen before, but one that was at least an inch long. Where did he come from? I don't know. All I know is he was nasty. What's funny, though, is that all the bugs in our house seem to seek out Amberlee because they know she's terrified. Why is that? Is it a little bug game, and the rest of us just aren't as fun because we aren't as scared? Maybe they know Amberlee won't kill them... On a high note, our black widows seem to have been exterminated due to Justin's pyro tendencies. Lysol cleaning spray and a lighter. That's all you need to know.

*Mythology. It may be interesting, but I really don't care all that much about Zeus and all his exploits. Yeah, he gets around, but his story isn't even the cool one. Can't I just learn about all the Greek heroes instead of the annoying, selfish, and altogether pointless gods. At least let me learn more about the Egyptians...

*My fingers. They hurt. I suppose that comes along with learning guitar, but it's really starting to irritate me. I want to feel the tips of my fingers, because typing when they're slightly numb is an interesting experience, and one that I could have done without.

*Capulet. I really, really, really wish I had a picture of our little mouse. If I did, he would probably be laughing in it. How is it that one little mouse can be so insanely smart? It's like I'm reliving the movie Mouse Hunt. Capulet got into our room once, and though we trapped him in there and spent over two hours trying to catch him, he somehow escaped. I am convinced that he is a mutant mouse and can transport himself through the fabric of space. After the room incident, Jamie found him sitting on the stove. The stove, yes. Why the stove? I have no idea. But Jamie screamed and he slipped down into the little hole that is in the middle of the burner, and then she came to get me. When I arrived in the kitchen (which is right across the hall from my room, by the way) the stove was entirely mouse-less. I even lifted up the 'lid' thing to look under the burners. Nope. No Capulet. We always see him running around the house and he has two nice holes in the wall in Kayla and Ashley's room. It's pretty funny, actually, to see him just running around the house like he owns the place. He probably does. Pace told us that Capulet was just chilling on his bed, once, without a care in the world. He probably laughs at us all the time.

Ah, Capulet, why'd you have to actually give us a sign that you still exist? Couldn't you have just popped into the room so we could see you? You didn't have to go and leave us a couple of presents on the stove... Spider Mouse, you just don't make a lot of sense. First, you don't get into the food on the counter when you can obviously get on the counter. Second, you avoid every trap we set, elude every attempt we made to catch you. Third, and last, you somehow get up on the stove and poop in the few minutes that no one is in the kitchen. Honestly, how do you do that? We were in the kitchen all day today!

*Sugar. Yes. I get to eat you tomorrow. I love you, I really do. Get ready for me.

Waiting

The bell tower across the river chimed ten when he heard the first shout, and by that time he had already finished his first cup of coffee and was starting a second. Three couples had occupied the table next to him (more than one conversation had included tears) but still he sat there, just waiting. The clouds were gone by then, and though the street was still wet, the sun smiled over head, pleased by its reflection in the practically unmoving water. He didn’t see this; he never saw the sun anymore.

He didn’t hear another shout until his third cup of coffee, which he had only gotten because the waitress had a gap in her front teeth. He was awake now. The cup just sat on the table in front of him, waiting to be drunk, just as the rest of the street waited for something to happen. It was too quiet, he decided. Everything was too quiet.

The clock chimed eleven, a bird chirped, a dog barked, but still it was too quiet. He coughed, but the echo from across the river was empty, almost silent. The world was reluctant to cough back. Margo would come, he eventually told himself. She would be there. The river didn’t want to cough back.

The shouting suddenly became intense, furious, and instead of the occasional cry he heard continued commotion. A mangy dog ran past, disturbing the still water as he kicked a few dead leaves into the river. Two men rushed after him, shouting in unison just as they wore matching black suits.

Margo wasn’t coming. With a sigh he stood up and put his tattered hat on his head, leaving his coffee on the table. There it waited. It was too quiet.