September 4, 20XX

Third day of the new school year. Everybody around me is antsy to see old friends, excited to start afresh, nervous to make good first impressions, and ready to get settled. The vibe in Palomar is especially feverish. I try not to get caught up in all the bustle. The club room is a nice sort of solace from it all.

Today I had my first real interaction with Claire. I've never met her before the club, despite knowing of her since I transferred here junior year. We chatted about small things. I learned that she loves to drink coffee, she likes to play the piano, and she doesn't mind studying (a necessary evil, she says. Not what I expected to hear from her but I'll buy it). She dislikes embarrassing scenes in movies, and she hates dealing with her whiny younger siblings. Oh, high heels too. She really doesn't like them. A very bad experience involving bossa nova-disco and lots of fruit juice, I hear. It's all very miniscule stuff, but I wouldn't say it's unimportant. She doesn't seem stuck up, despite coming from a very illustrious family. As expected of the number two in our grade, she gives off smart vibes. All in all our conversation was pleasant. I'm thinking of revising my initial opinion of her. She makes me think of your typical smart girl. Surely, she's a girl made of sugar and spice and something nice. A little bit of oregano. A pinch of Himalayan pink salt. Some ginger too (though she has silky black hair).

I feel kind of awkward writing this stuff down. Was I always this judgy? It's like a sort of psychoanalysis. Looking back on the other two entries, I realize that I tend to characterize things around me as strange. Strange is a... strange word to use. It's kind of the feeling

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

It's kind of a gut feeling. (Reminder not to use pen next time).

Anyway, it's like psychoanalysis, except without the bearded guy, and the strangely comfortable sofa recliner. That would be cool though. A wise bearded guy pulling hidden facts from the mystery of my subconscious spread bare upon luxury leather. This self discovery lacks such novelty. Instead of a dreamy sofa recliner we get a cheap plastic foldable chair.

Mr. Kafka says new, more comfortable chairs should be coming soon. I'm a little excited.

Oh, I should mention Mark. He said something new to me earlier today in human anatomy. "Huh? You want something from me?" he scowled. I remember his scary face vividly, because it's the same face he's making while writing in his journal right now.

It's my fault for asking him for lead anyway. (Reminder to bring a pencil tomorrow. Ticonderoga. The classy stuff).

I don't mind anyway. When he said that to me, those around me seemed alarmed—a little frightened, even, but that type of stuff doesn't bother me.

At least he's being himself, as disagreeable as he may appear to be.

Screw society, anyway... that's what they say, right?

Speaking Writing (Screw it)

Speaking of society, I'm just concerned about being paid decently. I hope I can land something nice in the future. A job... suited to me, huh...

Actually, what job would fit me? What am I good at? Do I have any real skills, real passions?

Ugh. Thinking about the future gives me a (resisting urge to use a specific word) headache. That's my cue to scramble.

Let's leave it at that. Time to wrap. Adieu.