Regret

I hate it.

I could've tried to go to San Diego; maybe if I hadn't immediately decided my parents would say no, I could've. Could've gotten my cousin to come with me and everything.

But I didn't, and now my friends are back; had a fab time, saw Wicked, and all these cool other things.

I might have been there.

But I wasn't, and I might never get a chance again.

I hate this feeling.

And it's not just what I missed; it's the fact that we all could've been together. All three of us. I felt so weird all week, without them there, and I know they felt weird without me, because I know if it had been two of us, I would've missed the other, and I'd feel weird with her not being there.

Why can't I get more resolve? Say, you know what, if it'll be the second time I go away in two weeks, and the third time all summer, SO BE IT. Ask around to see who'll go with me. Convince my Mom that I know what I'm doing, that I'm twenty, not ten. No - see if I even HAVE to convince her. She's not strict at all, just semi-protective.

But no; I wish things to happen, but when I doubt they will, simply sigh, pick up a book, and loose myself in a place that isn't real.

Then I feel complete disappointment later, and keep thinking about "what if."