I'm sorry, but that last entry isn't really complete without a picture from that era. Here I am with my friend, Sarah, prepping for another day of swooning over Matt.

This picture is particularly fantastic because it was taken on Twin Day. More specifically, it was the most dramatic Twin Day of my life. I chose to have over twelve inches of hair removed from my head in order to more fully match Sarah. That is why my hair is in such a unique triangle shape. It was poofing out in rebellion against my first haircut of my entire life. (Why yes, I still have the ponytail in my closet somewhere. Ew?) That is also why I was allowed to ditch my Harry Caray glasses for a day and why she and I are dressed alike.

Now, why we chose to dress alike in these outfits? That's one of the top ten questions I'll be asking myself when I invent a time machine.

One of the most embarrassing moments in my life involved telling my elementary school crush that I loved him. To his face. In front of the entire school.

His name was Matt, and he was the dreamiest boy I had ever laid eyes on. Gorgeous brown hair and lovely, soulful eyes. I'm a sucker for pretty eyes. My parents had put me in a private, Christian school (K-8) in third grade, and I immediately fell in love. He was a few grades above me, but I knew that I was mature enough to handle an older man. Sarah was my best friend at the time, and she and I would spend recess arguing — "Nuh-uh, he was looking at ME!" — as we stared longingly at him from the other side of the playground.

The school was relatively small with an average class size of seven or eight children, so everyone knew each other. However, I never really had the courage to say much to him. Sarah was the more outgoing of the two of us, and I grew discouraged every time Matt would flash his gorgeous smile in response to her witty conversation.

One day, however, the whole school gathered for the weekly chapel as usual, only to discover that our guest speakers had a special activity planned. I was petrified already. Group activities usually involve some form of competition, and I can't stand to lose at anything. My perfectionism just won't allow it.

Sure enough, the game was something akin to a massive version of Rock, Paper, Scissors . . . with a twist. Everyone paired up with a partner and turned so that their backs were facing each other. On the count of three, each person would turn to face his or her partner and would say one of three things —

Rawr!, bang!/pow!, or "I love you."

If you turned around as the bear, holding up fake claws and shouting "Rawr!" you could kill the wife. If you turned around as the husband with finger-guns and saying "Pow!" you could kill the bear. If you turned around as the wife, proclaiming "I love you!" you could defeat the husband.

Somehow, I managed to beat every single person I was paired against, working my way around the room until I was one of two people left standing. The other person was none other than Matt. I stared at him. I could feel the jealousy emanating from the other girls. My face was burning with embarrassment. To this day, nobody will let me forget how red my cheeks were in that moment. Slowly, I turned around and prepared to shoot Matt through the heart.

On the count of three, we both spun around with pistols aimed at each other and lamely whispered "Pow!" The tension was mounting by the second. Because we had tied, we had to repeat the process.

"Pow!"

We shot each other fifteen more times.

Clearly, neither of us wanted to say "I love you." Armed with this knowledge, I turned my back toward Matt one last time, took a deep breath, and blushed deeply. I would do what I had to do for the sake of victory, whatever the cost.

On Tuesday of last week, I skipped sixty years of my life and started a new job. Now, I absolutely love this job so far. I get to work with people who have been friends of my family for years and years. The environment is completely relaxed, and I spend most of my day trying to quiet my laugh so as not to disturb someone who is on the phone. I do a lot of work with publications and design, and all of my favorite skills — organization, creativity, literacy, etc. — are utilized fully on a daily basis. The position is brand new, and it seems as if it was tailored to fit my personality exactly. I love my job.

I know that not many people can say that honestly, so I'm overcome with guilt by this next thought. I hate that I accepted this job.

My heart is with my friends, and they are all in school in Texas. In fact, all my boys live on the same dorm floor. It's called Club, and they are therefore known as Clubbers.

I miss these guys so much that it literally makes my heart ache and hurt. I already spent one year away from them when I went to community college for my second year of school, and it was the most hellish year I've ever endured. This year, I was supposed to be gone for only one semester (I managed to get suspended for skipping chapel for three semesters), but taking this job means that I'll be away from my boys for a whole year.

The thought of that makes me nauseous. I've cried every night since I left in May. Now, that really just says something about what a crybaby pirate I am, but it also does say a bit of how torn I am by being apart from Club.

I know that they love me and miss me, but I'm afraid that they'll forget about me if I don't go back in January. I'm afraid that things will change.

So I guess I'll have to keep counting my blessings to remind myself that I could be much worse off. To have to choose between a great job and great friends is a tough choice but not the toughest. And really, I can still visit them and whatnot. It's just hard to say goodbye to one dream and to make room for another.