In the previous entry, I meant "disposable" when I said "exposable". Yeah, I don't know, either.

Last night, LBC showed up for all of twenty seconds before he left. He was watching me as he came in and watching me as he left. I was in the video room since the powers that be are adamant that I'm not at circulation when he's there, but he said something to my coworker. I thought about asking her what he said, but that is one step over the line of pathetic I am not willing to take.

I am positive that he knows I exist as a person. Hell, he may even know I exist as a girl. I have caught his interest enough that he makes a point to look in my direction every time he is in and sometimes even says hello. But what is this interest based on? Fear? Curiosity? Unbridled lust, if there is a god?

I was so ready to say more words to him last night, too. I've been listening to nothing but Bruce Springsteen for days and days and that is the perfect type of motivation to talk to a boy that scares the shit out of you even though it's only the fact that he is a boy that scares the shit out of you.

And he was only there for a few seconds. Of course. I actually thought I looked all right yesterday. Hair behaved, clothes kinda matched, only one albeit prominent zit. I actually felt...pretty. But, as soon as the day comes where I am working the pizza face and ugly pants, he will be there for hours and actually have to come up to circulation for something. Because that is my luck and the world's way of making sure there is no chance in hell that I'll spawn.

You know, I may make everything into a big deal, but at least it gives me something to put in this little box you're staring at.

Oh, shit. What was the title of this journal again?

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