Turquoise Grass

Journal,

Whelp, I do not know what the hell I want—at all. Shane came over last night, and it was okay. This morning, I was like, oh, here comes the good morning text—eye roll; it did not come. Funny, also, it was kind of not. I texted this afternoon, and we chatted for a few minutes, then I was like, text me later—?? Oh, the irony. I want to measure if he wants to hook up or hang out. Who knows? Not I, says the cat. Love you.

Love,