Some part of me is connected with the rain. It makes my father depressed. It makes me happy. I love rain.
Yesterday was going quite well. And it still did I guess. I got the rejection letter from the summer camp at MIT, I'm sure due to my low math scores. It threw me into another matrix of self-doubt and confusion overy my future- English or science, that is the question. I know I'm better at English. But I like quantum physics. I don't want to be rejected from everything because my standardized scores were low.
The old, persistant, inescapable feeling came back... I'm not good enough. Not smart enough. And I never will be.

It wasn't so much the rejection from the camp but the age-old implication that sort of turned my day. I didn't feel horrible though. Just distant. I distance myself from the things that have the potential to hurt me. Much the way I am pushing Amanda out of my life at the moment. No one could hurt me like she could.

The one happiness I had left was that I could take the class at Carroll I wanted to, the writing class. But then my mother told me I couldn't take it, and anything good in me sort of deflated.

So it was pouring out, and I knew that I could escape into something better. I put on shorts and a t-shirt and my lovely, designer Pay-less shoes that leak in water, and I ran. I'm not sure how far, somewhat over two miles. So I guess not horribly far, but far enough to become drenched in freezing sheets of rain.

I'm not sure why I thought of him. It was something about the rain. And the girl in the book I was reading was sexually abused. It was something about being that cold and wet and feeling so vulnerable to it all. Rain does that to me.

So I thought of Craig. And no amount of running, no amount of anger, no amount of desperate desire could make me stop hurting from all of those memories.