Whatever-you-want-to-call-it fever

there is a piece of me that feels 15 and wants to do 15-year-old things, like going to the mall and blowing my money on lip gloss and tank tops and records, going to pool parties and amusement parks and the beach, and following a boy to work to drop off love notes. i want to stay out ’til after midnight, knowing that it’s two hours past curfew, and climb back inside my bedroom through the window. i want to blast the radio and shake my groove thing in my bedroom, then collapse on the bed with a trashy magazine and bowl of ice cream. i want to stay up all night, whispering sweet somethings into the phone, only half-covered by bedsheets, with the moon peering through the crack of the blinds.

maybe it’s the weather.

i’m convinced that there is something in the air, besides the usual so cal sea breeze and pollen that leaves my hair stringy and nose runny. no. it’s something else. some kind of fever. and i’ve got it. bad.

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