I saw my infatuation was rather pathetic. Ours was an empty relationship, devoid of stability in its most meager sense. I recalled how often his intentions were rejoined with apologetic excuses when those intentions were waived to pursue other activities in which I had no part. Such treatment consumed trust and debilitated affection, causing me to turn gradually from my romantic ideal and grasp reality, despite the pain that the action entailed; self-deceit would only delay the inevitable hurt that naturally accompanied unfulfilled dreams. With summer nearly sunning itself on the doorstep, I fostered no conscious inclination to fret over my flickering flame; too well I remembered the previous summer, through which I mourned the loss of a different guy's attentions (whose attentions, I might add, were the first I had ever received, as he was my first actual date). I finally realized, after ruining my entire summer, it was the attention, not the guy, over which I lamented. I liked knowing that I was, to an extent, desirable and attractive for my feminine qualities, a knowledge which had to come from sources other than my mom and dad to seem valid. As I no longer required a male admirer to uphold or applaud various aspects of myself to assure my adequacy as a person, I looked forward to the upcoming months with reminiscent anticipation. Among the various events of the summer which followed 11th grade was the renewal of friendship between Steve, my next-door neighbor, and me. Throughout junior high our meetings had been markedly sparse, the result of differing circles of friends rather than personal quarrels. After several brief conversations, we discovered we shared common interests which could provide the foundation for a friendship. Our "fellowship" introduced me to people who eventually became friends of my own, and those from school with whom I had previously associated but drifted slowly toward other interests and destinations. The new introductions included Jon, whose companionship colored many days of the summer and would later evolve into an extended relationship. Looking at the pages of my diary, the carefree days described therein now seem to possess a dream-like quality; the days were bundles of minutes in which only the present mattered. I did my chores and went out with friends; I threw the frisbee and played miniature golf; there were picnics and movies and light conversation. The whirlwind had stabilized, but it hadn't slowed... and I did not give myself time to think.