LOL. Another day I am here and I should be doing homework. It even says that's what I'm doing on my door. I got distracted walking past this place (computer lab) en route to the library.

Gosh, I nearly went crazy last night. Nate was supposed to call, and we usually talk about eight or nine-ish (his time). So at 9:00 (my time) commenced the anxiety of waiting.

I waited for 2 hours--till 11:00 my time. I told him not ever to call after 11:00, but he hadn't called yet and he was supposed to. You can't imagine the state of mind I was in. :P I wasn't mad, I was just wondering why on earth he hadn't called and desperately trying to decide whether I should call him or not. I try not to call too late as well--he needs sleep, too--but I had to know in this case; it was killing me. I imagined all sorts of reasons--he'd got caught up in talking to Cassie, he'd forgotten, he wasn't sure whether it was him or me who was supposed to call, or he felt awkward about calling me after Tuesday's conversation. That last idea was the one I REALLY hoped wasn't why.

Anyway, long story short, I did call him, even though it was late. He was talking to Cassie, but that wasn't why he hadn't called; it was the simplest explanation: he wasn't sure whose turn it was to call. Bleh. All that worrying... But at least now I knew.

And then his stepdad had to use the phone, after we'd talked for all of, like, 10 minutes. That was okay; usually when his parents knew Nate was on the phone, they made their calls pretty short.

Well, his dad talked for a half hour. Once again a ton of anxiety. But this time at least I could reassure myself that Nate WOULD call, because he had asked, "Can I call you back?" My biggest concern was how late it was getting and how tired I was.

After we got back on the phone, we didn't talk much longer. Talk about a disappointing phone conversation! But I was really tired.

So, supposedly, Nate's going to call me Saturday. I hope he doesn't forget.

Anyway, I don't know why I'm writing all this.

Hmm... Should I go do my homework now? The library's open till 11:00...

OH! Tomorrow I'm going to go to the first meeting of the ministry club Angels that I've been to. They started a long time ago... 6 weeks, about. I signed up but I haven't made it to one meeting. But tomorrow they're going out to breakfast at McDonald's with the people they minister to. I hope I don't feel too awkward. I'm not going to have a clue what to do, but I guess I'll be welcome. I did get the e-mail that there'd be a breakfast meeting.

It's at 6:45 AM. Gag me. That's SO early to get up!! But oh well... When I get back I can hit the hay again.

In my diary today I made an interesting observation. Angela told me in one of her e-mails that you never really let go of your first love. And when she said that I realized... As much as I try not to use the word "love" in high school relationships (Nate was the same way)... I did love him, in a way. I guess I still do... Probably not true love, but definitely a form of love. I guess I never really realized that love does come in different forms. I've had it so pounded in my head that the only true love is the Biblical love (1 Corinthians 13:4-7, 1 John 3:16, 1 John 4:18), and everything else is infatuation or lust or whatever other names you may call it, that I find it hard to grasp a concept that says I loved Nate.

I don't know... Maybe I'm just rambling off a throne of emotion left over from the begining of the week.

Nah... There's something in what I'm saying. I can feel it. I can't tell you what it is, but there's something in what I am saying. :)

Dear God, thank You for being faithful in answering my prayer from earlier this week. You have given me a note of clarity in this relationship with Nate--a few notes, I should say!--and I just want to ask if You'd continue to clear things up for me. Not that I doubt You will--the "if" is there for politeness. I don't want to just tell You, command You, "Give me a note of clarity, Lord!" I just want to ask if You would. Thanks, Jesus, for answering my prayers. I love You. Your own, Stephanie