AUGUST

August 31

Here is what I am supposed to be doing: sleeping.

Here is what I am doing: standing on my bed on top of a tower that's made out of my folded-up pink dotty bedspread plus 4 pillows which is what I always do when I need to see my whole self in my rather teensy mirror and check if I look divine which, luckily, most of the time I do. Actually, that was what I was doing 2 minutes ago. But right when I was making positive sure that I was looking gorgeous in my tomorrow outfit, my tower collapsed every which way and I went flying and klonked my elbow and 1 cowgirl boot zwooped off my foot and crashed into my alarm clock and knocked it off my night table. That made a bouncing, clunking sound that made my mom holler up the stairs, "Lucy Rose Reilly! I REALLY hope your lights are OUT and your eyes are CLOSED."

I did not answer but I did think. What I thought was that since she was just HOPING and not actually EXPECTING, I could stay up for a few or maybe 13 more minutes, if I was quiet in the extreme. Usually I'm not one for stretching rules but I seriously needed 1 minute to put on my Washington Nationals sleeping shirt, which I just did, plus 12 more because I have to write all my thoughts in this deluxe book that my grandfather, who's named Pop, gave me on account of I'm starting 4th grade tomorrow. That's also why I want to look divine because I am planning to make an impression on my new teacher who I don't know 1 thing about except for her name and it's Mrs. Timony.

Pop gives me a fresh book whenever I have an occasion. It's always red on the outside with lines on the inside. Pop says that when you are an original thinker, and I am original in the extreme, you s...