This is one of Those evenings. You know the ones. Where the moon is calling you to dance and the stars seem to sing (well, the one I can see from here). The kind of evening to grab lover boy and go walking hand in hand around the pond in the cooling breeze, watching ducks settle down for the night.
My mind will not settle for reading. Homework is a hopeless dream. Even writing doesn't appeal to me-- I want an adventure! Tonight would be the night to finally call that one particular guy and fess up. Quoting Buttercup perhaps? "I love you, I know it must sound strange..." (from the book of course.) Should I jet off to Paris, to see the city of lights on a beautiful fall night? I hear this is a good time for Boston. Or perhaps I will walk through some mirror or wardrobe or find a dragon scale and stumble into a magical land!
Alas I must content myself with small adventures here. And not calling the poor boy (who would be quiet shocked I believe. Not that I have his number anymore, I deleted that afterthis fiasco. I shall wander around the lake alone, maybe reading, maybe not. I will ignore the mosquitoes and try to find all twenty stars I managed to count that one time. This night will be no different than most, my common sense overcoming my impulsive-buy-a-lot-of-ice-cream-run-screaming-jump-into-the-pool-wander-off-into-another-land-call-a-boy-type of mood. I may howl at the moon once or twice though. Because.