Well, actually, it more than likely begins on a bright and sunny day. But that's not nearly as dramatic, is it? Last year (my junior year of high school) I met a girl named Elise (her name has been changed for privacy's sake). Elise was a sophomore then, a year or so younger than me, a redhead with delicate features and beautiful brown eyes. But more than that, Elise was an intelligent, coherent, and kind person, someone who was well-read in classic literature, could ruminate on serious subjects, and hold an actual conversation! I fell in love almost instantly. How could I not? She was brilliant, beautiful, and personable. We came from similar family situations: a stepparent (me: stepmother; her: stepfather) that made life difficult, problems at home, et cetera. I was sure that we were destined to be at least friends. And for a while, we were. We spoke after school while she waited for her ride, and I thought things were going pretty well. On the last day of school, she gave me her phone number, so I could call over the summer. And I did, but not as often as I would have liked. We were still friendly then, so I figured things would stay that way once my senior (her junior) year began. Unfortunately, they didn't.

In the beginning of this year, I tried to talk to Elise again as I once had, but she was cold, distant. Which, in turn, made me unconfident, nervous. Which probably didn't help much with the impression I made. (A vicious cycle, as you can undoubtedly see.) She spent more and more time with her friend, a friend who never said hello, never seemed to make any effort to put this poor, self-effacing soul at ease. Anyway, things steadily became more and more awkward, and I started asking myself if I just wanted to give up. But I told myself that there was no reason that she wouldn't like me, and decided to persist in my efforts and simply make conversation, no matter what. That's when everything in my life stopped making sense....

(Dramatic, no?)

At lunch the next day (after my determined resolution to push on, low self-confidence be damned), I was pulled aside by a guy who immediately asked if I knew Elise. (Of course, he didn't actually ask if I knew "Elise," but you know what I mean.) I replied that I did. He then told me that a friend's cousin had sent him to "punk" me, because apparently I was "scaring and bothering" Elise. Now, he told me, he really didn't want to punk me, because I seemed like an all right guy. (How kind of him.) Regardless, I wasn't to "bother" Elise anymore, lest the wrath of this hired fist come down upon me. At first, I was shocked. Everything had been going so well last year (or at least they had seemed to be). Then, I was angry. Who did she think she was to just reject me like that, condemn me, and not even have enough decency to do so in person?

In the end, I made a promise to myself: I would never allow other people to dictate my emotions. For far, far too long I had based my feelings on people's reactions to me, whether or not they seemed to like me. But no more. No longer would I let other people determine my happiness. I had been a sardonic killjoy for years, because I had convinced myself that everyone hated me. Of course, no one really appreciates the company of such a killjoy, so it was all self-fulfilling prophecy: I thought people hated me, so I was depressed, and people don't like perpetually depressed people, so people didn't like me, so I thought people hated me, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. (Another one of those cycles of the vicious variety.) From that day forward I stopped bending over backwards trying to make people (primarily girls) like me, and realized that if they didn't like me to begin with, my feeble efforts to change that fact certainly wouldn't work. I stopped obsessing over girls with whom I had absolutely no chance of success, which was unfair both to them and me, and began appreciating those who actually seemed to be friendly. And it has all been working amazingly well. I have more friends now than ever, and people generally seem to like me for who I am. (I now live by the quote, "It is better to be hated for who you are than loved for who you are not.") I am happy most of the time, and now my unpleasant emotion comes in the form of stress, not depression.

And Elise? I haven't spoken a word to her since that day. I debated with myself as to whether I should talk to her about it, make sure that she actually made the decision to "punk" me, actually wanted me out of her life. But I decided that it would be for the best (for both of us) if I didn't bring up an uncomfortable conversation. But I have also decided that on my last day of school (she should have another week left, being a junior), I'm going to go up to Elise and say, "I'm sorry it didn't work out." If she leaves it at that, so be it. If she wants to talk about it, I'm fine with that as well. And if, perchance, she says something unexpected ("Why did you stop talking to me all of a sudden?"), I'll react accordingly. I plan to play the situation by ear, and I hope it turns out well.

But I was talking about dreams, wasn't I? Well, rest assured that they are not erotic, or inappropriate in any way. Most details are fuzzy, but what I do, distinctly, remember is this: my having a conversation with Elise, her "forgiving" me, and our being friends once again. It's such a happy dream, but I'm wondering what it means. The most logical inference one may make, of course, is that I'm obsessed with her and still have not completely gotten over her "dumping" (I use the term very loosely) me. But I'm determined not to obsess over girls who obviously don't like me, so I hope that's not the case. Otherwise, the only guess I have is that in my deep subconscious, buried in the depths of that abyss in my psyche known as the id, I still really like Elise, and I wish that we could become friendly again, and that this emotion is manifesting itself in my dreams.

Well, I've taken far too much of your time if you've actually been reading all of this. (And if you've done so without the use of any stimulants, I'm impressed.) I shan't bore you anymore in this message, although I may have another tonight. I've found this journal-writing business to be extremely therapeutic.

[Exit Orpheum.]