Sept 4, 2005 5:59 am.

I absolutely cannot eat breakfast this early. Mom made a special breakfast to celebrate my first day of Seminary. OK you can laugh, but remember I’m her first child and so this is really, really exciting. For her.

Anyway, she made all the stuff I usually like—bacon, eggs, and those little sausage patties from the pig we slaughtered this summer. I like the extra hot kind. My dad likes them, too. He went on his mission to Korea and came back liking really spicy food. Legend has it he fed me extra-hot Kimchee as a toddler.

Anyway, much as I like spicy sausage, it is not a good idea to eat it before 7:00 am, especially if you have a long, curvy drive to endure. I nearly threw up all over the front seat, which my mom had just cleaned in celebration of my First Day.

Well, actually, she found out yesterday that she was scheduled to carpool from the church to the high school this week, and so she went on a cleaning binge. She was up until about one in the morning, but the inside of the van is undeniably spotless. I really have no words to describe how weird that feels. Which is why I made a great effort to refrain from vomiting. I’m such a thoughtful daughter, aren’t I. And yes, I did thank her for making breakfast, despite what it did to my innards.

Ok I’ll admit it… I’m terrified. I don’t want to be a high school student! When I got off the bus yesterday, everyone looked so—old. At first I thought it was all the sophomores and juniors and seniors who looked old, but then I saw my friend Ally. She was one of my best buds last year—we did drama club together. I didn’t hang out with her at all this summer, due to the fact that she lives in town and I live out in the boonies. So it was kind of a shock.

There she was, arm-in arm with some tall, muscly-looking boy who had a nose ring and spiky blue hair. She had on stiletto heels and a very short skirt, and, to my utter amazement, was smoking a cigarette.

Wow, those things do age you fast.

Just kidding. It was the stilettos.

So is that what’s expected of me as a ninth grader? Am I going to have to go buy some six-inch heels in order to be cool and mature?

No, thank you. I can think of a dozen more enjoyable ways to break an ankle.