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May 28, 2008:
Talking on the phone, at all. There are only three people in my existence that I have been a stickler on the phone with: Allen, Alx and Marc. I've lost all three of them. Now a friend calls me, and I want the conversation to be over as quickly as possible. If I'm with friends, having fun, it's the worst. I used to get calls from Allen, and instead of being a dick about me talking to other people like most people do, he stayed on the phone and offered his two cents into the conversation we had. I'd put him on speaker phone and everything. Haha. And now that I don't have him, being on the phone around my friends is a drag. A real fucking drag and I fucking miss Allen more than ever. Topic closed.

The smell of fresh paint. Not necessarily wet, but fresh. It brings back that room and all of its glory, summer nights that were way too fucking hot, chatting with Tyler and Christina on tagged, and a lot of kids that I love way too much but will never see again.

The stupid groggy feeling you get when you're not quite sleeping enough. It gives me a head change, and I walk through the whole day feeling like I'm going insane. But I love it. I feel numbed and lost and fuck. It makes me remember everything I ever loved, and I've never figured out why.

Turning on the light at like, five in the morning. Fuck I hate that. It reminds me of being way too young for this shit, sleeping on my mom's floor while Brianna, Nick and Shelby filed in, watching Cartoon Network at four a.m. Waiting for a day of chaos to begin while Rey ran off to the army. It reminds me of my mother in tears and the way people always stay, even when they're miserable.

Waking up at one in the morning but it's really fucking seven and you're like why god oh fucking why did I have to only get three hours of sleep on a school night? I hate it, I hate it so much. I roll over, and it's nearly impossible for me to get up. I look at the window and I wonder why the fuck the sunlight had to tease me and I force myself out of bed and I hate my life.

The taste of my cigarettes on given days. I don't know what inspires the change, but I inhale and I fucking get a flood of summer flowing into my mind, and I love it. I love it so much, I wish it would happen every time I take a drag, but then I might be happy a little too often. It brings back summer '07, the peak of my existence so far, it brings back downtown at its chillest, the summer I started smoking, quit, and the summer I started back up. It brings back getting into trouble, earning my freedom, my life. Ugh. That taste of my cigarette, that stupid taste that decides to come back to me and tease me when I'm sitting in the Dinuba alleyway, in from of the Coffee Co., or behind the Save Mart waiting to be busted, that stupid taste, is the best thing I'll ever know.

Smoking in the rain has always been a major thing for me. It brings back the summer that my friends and I were closest, sneaking into the backyard during a thunderstorm to smoke, hoping we wouldn't get wet. Well, getting wet isn't bad. Getting the cigarette wet is, and fuck that.

There's a smell, and I don't even know what it is. But Mrs. Carmen's room always smelled like it. It reminded me of that foreign exchange student, of my friends in history and the first time I smoked weed with that one fool. Ugh. It reminds me of sitting in Carmen's during rainstorms, of making Allen do my homework for me, and of so much fucking laughing it's ridiculous. The smell affects me more around Christmas time, as well. I noticed it both years I had her.

The rain. It's pretty obvious due to the others that I really love the rain. There's something about it that just brings things back to me. It rained when my grandpa died (it rained when a lot of people died), and then it rained for my grandma's wedding, and for so many happy things. The rain is everything to me. It's pain, happiness, sadness, the best times of my life and the deepest depressions I've ever known. It's my heart, my soul, everything. I swear to god, the rain brings it all back. The smell of fabric when you've been standing in it, the way you walk around soaked and everyone wonders why the fuck you didn't move, listening to it hit the pavement and watching it out of the window. There's not a thing in this world better than a thunderstorm. Fuck, I wish I could have them all the time.

June 03, 2008 update:
I found this perfume I used to wear. Ha, it's totally last summer, arguing over cigarette brands and then spraying it to hide their stench, meeting kids that I love now and getting high way too much. It's Candyce's first car, and before that, walking to fucking taco bell every day with the turtle backpack and riding the trolley for no purpose whatsoever. Late nights downtown, having my dad flip, and my fucking birthday! It reminds me of Allen. Of ditching to his homeroom every day and to auto, of teasing each other, and of pretty much every aspect of his personality. Ugh. I don't even know why. Shit, dude. This last year is one I'll never get over.

June 07, 2008 update:
The taste of Marlboro Smooth Menthols are the epitome of summer school 2007. I don't think I can explain how much they bring back. Walking through RHS, trying to figure out the school and never completely succeeding. The sights, the smells, the people, walking to the park to smoke, David the Great, Steveo, Alx, Travis, FUCK. Getting picked up in Rodney's car and smoking on the way home, attempting to find just SOMEONE to buy, arguing over who got to wear my sweater, being the first one done, reading too many books, finding out how awesome Ms. Elder is, making tons of new friends, AKSHETA! I'm serious, I don't think you'll ever know how much that summer meant to me, how much that taste brings back, and how much I miss the old days.

June 23, 2008 update:
Walking in Alyssa's front yard at seven in the morning. Her whole street reminds me of my grandma's old house, the place she had lived my entire life up until just after my grandpa died. Then she let all of that go to get remarried AGAIN. It reminds me of being little, getting up way to early to go visit, and then running around the house. I can remember the way it looked, smelled, the way it felt to be there. I loved that house. It reminds me of sitting in the TV room and just watching TV with my grandpa, playing dominoes, eating oranges. Baking cakes. It reminds me of sitting at the kitchen table and picking out the headstone, while getting the call that my little sister had been in a car accident. Every memory is bittersweet.

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