I just had a rather enjoyable talk on the phone with one of my friends. For most girls, this isn’t particularly noteworthy, but I thought it was pretty weird because I hate talking on the phone. I don’t know even know why I hate it; it’s not like I ever had a traumatic telephone-related incident when I was a kid. I just tend to freeze up whenever I’m holding a telephone in my hand.

A lot of my phone calls are punctuated by awkward silences, usually initiated by me. This causes whoever I’m talking to to think that I’m doing something else and not paying attention, but most of the time, I’m actually just sitting there, staring into space. I listen. I just don’t talk. It’s rather pathetic, if I do say so myself, but it seems I’ll always be that way.

Still, I feel kind of bad for being such a terrible phone conversationalist. I hardly ever call anyone “to chat,” so whenever I’m on the phone, it’s usually because someone called me. And I’m pretty sure no one wants to call someone just to spend every other minute in silence. :(

So… for all of you phone addicts, what exactly keeps you on the phone for so long?

You know the best thing about Halloween? No one cares if you bring a lightsaber to school.

Anyway, Halloween was actually major suckage this year, but I’m pretending it was all good because it’s depressing if Halloween isn’t fun. But seriously, a test? A test? Mr. Economics Teacher, I really don’t think you understand the concept of Halloween. Believe it or not, most of your students are just kids in high-schoolers’ bodies. We want candy, not tests.

Also, R.I.P. all the fun in the first week of November, due to a Calculus test, a Spanish project, and a Lit project.

My mom has just informed me that she’s signed me and my sister up for our church’s pro-Proposition 8 march next week. Basically, it’s a protest against legalizing gay marriage in California.

I’m really upset about this. I don’t believe in gay marriage, but I also don’t believe in walking around with a sign that says “Yes on Prop 8″ in the middle of a park. True, it’s not as bad as waving around a sign that reads “God hates gays” (which isn’t true), but I can’t find a way to participate in this march while showing God’s love at the same time.

I guess the reason my mom didn’t ask for permission to sign me up was because I have participated in a march before — about four years ago. The difference between now and then is this: four years ago, I went because I was twelve years old and my parents told me to. Now, I am almost seventeen, and even though my parents are telling me to, I don’t want to go.

The thing is, I want to honor my parents. Part of my mind is reminding me of how many sacrifices they’ve made for me, asking me why I can’t just make this one little sacrifice for them. And I want to believe that voice. But I can’t. Because this kind of march is not for me.