Has it really been only a week?? It seems so much longer...
I'm sorry for not writing for a while. It has been incredibly hectic and troubling and just plain exhausting around here for a while.
Hmm... what happened, what happened.... last weekend I went camping. It was terrific and I had so much fun with my friend Grace and the other boys (and girls: Juliet and Arianna) in my camping group. We are all different ages, but we get along well. Grace and I are oldest, so we had to look after the other kids (none younger than 11, which made life easier), but they're a good group. There was no trouble from our kids. The trouble came from others.
It was Friday night and we were setting up camp. Grace and Michael had gone to get food with the supervising adults (of course there were adults!) and I was the only senior left--the one next closest in age to me was Alex, who is�13. We were having a lot of trouble with our kitchen tent, and some other campers who were nearby saw us struggling came over to help. They were Americans. One of them actually introduced himself to me like this: "Hey, I'm Nathan. My friends call me Nate. I'm pretty much�a hillbilly." I. Nearly. DIED. Laughing. Internally, of course. I wouldn't laugh at him to his face. But I could forsee trouble. The weekend we chose was popular with the campers, so there were plainly many boys there (that is not a comment on girls and camping--I camp, don't I?) and girls camping drew boys like dog biscuits draw particularly dumb golden retrievers. Nate wasn't even that handsome or nice, for God's sake. He was incredibly immature. I am sure that had I been wearing anything but a super-loose flannel button-down shirt his eyes would have zoomed to my chest. So even as I was enduring darling Nate, poor Juliet (11) was dealing with an admirer of her own. He was flirting ineptly with her, and eventually she became so mortified that she edged over to me and urgently muttered "SAVE ME!" So I told the boy that she was busy and had work to do and tried to imply,�thanks for the help, don't bother stopping by again. Heartless? I don't think so. He really was being very forward, and he couldn't have been older than she was. This little conversation, however, was a kind of foreshadowing to the role I would play at this camp: Spokesperson. Even in my blackest moods, even at my most antisocial, I would be expected to be the group's voice. How I got saddled with that role kind of escapes me, but that's what it was.
That night, little Juliet stalker boy showed up OUTSIDE OUR TENT. Thanks a bunch, David, for pointing him in the right direction. He was there whispering "Juliet? Juliet?" And I once again spoke up for her (at her prodding--she absolutely point-blank refused to. She also begged.) and told him to go away and leave us the hell alone. He complied.
The next day, during the activities we'd organised with some other campers, Nate came to talk to me again. This time Grace and one of the adults, Harry, were there. He approached me and asked if I wanted to meet him later at his campsite. I am pretty sure I looked horrified. I am fifteen. For me, that is YOUNG. And here I am, at CAMP, and for the first time a guy asks me out (in any way). Seriously?! Seriously?! Talk about one screwed up first-time. And the worst part is, during ALL of this, Harry and Grace were smiling vaguely into space and sauntering away, pretending not to pay attention. Some friend YOU are, Grace. I'm not that mad about that part, but I wish she had helped. I ended up mumbling something about being on supper detail that night and something about busy and not allowed to date, and then running away. I was mostly traumatised, though. Meu Deus. Later, Grace and I came up with a story-- I had with me a very pretty sterling silver ring I had bought recently (I know, taking a ring to camp, not the brightest idea) and I was going to wear it on the fourth finger of my left hand. If I saw him and he asked again, I would tell him it's a promise ring from my boyfriend, and that I was sorry, but I wouldn't cheat on him. This was a flawed plan (seeing as I'd already told him I didn't date) but we were very teenage-girl-ish and immature. Luckily for us, we did not see Juliet-stalker or Nate the rest of the weekend. (What's that you say? Of course I didn't hide. I just avoided him.)
The actual camping was fun, however. I met up with some friends that we had met the year before and we cheerfully re-exchanged emails (apparently theirs had crashed, or something along those lines). It was very funny. I didn't even know they were there that weekend, until a woman I didn't recognise yelled "Annabel!!!" very loudly from across the campsite. It scared me witless. Some�random woman yelling my name and waving to me? As we began talking she told me who she was, though, so it made more sense. And I visited her group's site and got reacquainted with her son (who Grace later pointed out was very attractive.) and stared at by everyone with a Y chromosome. Grace came too, and she got the same. Seriously. You'd think that all the boys get locked in girl-proof closets. I don't consider myself that attractive, but I got stared at. Weird, no? It was very uncomfortable.
There are many, many more camp stories, but I will save them for another day.
This week is "Arts Fest" at my school. Our band performed last night. We did great.
Aside from that, I am drowning in work. The stupid French project is nearly done. Talia's contribution was hours of arguing over nothing and typing up part of the finished copy. On top of that I have several more projects due next week--though thankfully no team ones. One Spanish, one History (Mao Tse-Tung, anyone? Don't quite know how I ended up with him), and one English. That last should be fine... I hope.
On top of all that, I was chosen as a judge for a writing competition for stories written by the teachers, so I had to read and judge about 10 stories. Some were good, some... not so good. The winners deserved their prizes.
Charlotte's aunt's funeral went on while I was camping. After it, 15 of her relatives went over to her house (Charlotte's) and got drunk. She said it was interesting being, along with her little brother, the only sober ones in the house.
And, beneath all this, underlying all this ridiculous complication, resides the persistant obsession. It helps me when I'm sad, it creates conversation with Char, and I love the books, but still, I know it's unhealthy. One day I will stop obsessing. I know it. Just not one day too soon.
Book suggestion: I am the Messenger, by Markus Zusak. Decent.
If I am not completely overwhelmed, I will write again soon. And, who knows, maybe not complain as much.
~Annabel
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