Jam-Packed Weekend

Last weekend was the kind that amazes you with the sheer amount of activities that can be crammed into it.

I skipped school Thursday and drove the two and a half hours up to Decaying State, getting stopped along the way by a Hick State state trooper who let me go with a warning, despite the fact that I was driving eighty-two miles per hour in a seventy-mile-per-hour zone, when I told him the purpose of my trip.

When I arrived near Anne's Town, I stopped at a rest area and stuffed my mouth with McDonald's. I usually only allow myself this treat once a month, a rule I've flagrantly violated this April. Between my regular McDonald's day, my 21st birthday, one afternoon when Mom brought home double cheeseburgers for lunch, and my fast-food-laden visit to Decaying State, I've had it five times since April 1st.

The high caloric intake seems to have jumpstarted my metabolism; on the morning I left for Decaying State I weighed 129 lbs, and on the morning after my arrival I weighed, astonishingly, 129 lbs. Similarly, I've been eating like a pig at night but so far this week my weight hasn't climbed over 130 lbs. Still, I need to be more health conscious.

Oh, willpower.



I spent Thursday and Friday cleaning out Grand Ma's dusty, cluttered, 300-year-old house, in which she's accumulated junk for the last three decades. I'm almost certain that the experience gave me another cold.

I'd meant to stay Friday night as well before I realized that with the combined treks from Anne's house to home and from home to school totaling about four hours, I'd have to get up around five in the morning to meet my Major University friends on time at eleven.

So I drove home, exhausted and starving, on Friday night. Before I left Decaying State, I did try and get Grand Ma to reveal to me the truth behind some family secrets. She wasn't telling. She said we'd just have to do the digging ourselves.

After arriving home Friday, I took one of the most thorough showers of my life, probably using half of my shampoo and conditioner bottles.

Then I woke up at nine on Saturday and drove the hour and a half to Major University, from which I departed with a group of five on the hour-long drive to Amusement Park at about noon.

Our posse, eventually augmented several times by fellow Major University students we met at the park, consisted by the end of the night of me, Friendly Guy, Friendly Girl, Bald Guy, Creepy Guy, Regular Guy, Muscled Guy, Prematurely Balding Guy, Pale Blonde Girl, and possibly one other person who I'm forgetting.

I did not get on any rollercoasters, but had a fun time nonetheless.

The best part of the night on a personal level came when I, at the head of our group, happened to pass right by ROTC Boy and the whole gang who I lived with my Freshman Year. Surrounded by friends, I shot the most derisive look I could at the people who'd excluded me as I fell into severe depression, whose apathy was so cruel during that hard time.

When ROTC Boy--intelligent, handsome, impossible to hate--called out my name, I gave the smallest response I could--nodding my head and saying, "Hey"--and walked on.

I doubt that any of them even noticed--they didn't notice when in my loneliness and despair I became suicidal--but it felt good to me. It's the best revenge I can imagine. I love having friends. I want even more.

We left the park at around eight-thirty, and I got home after eleven.

That night I slept nine hours. On Sunday I was thankful to just relax.