In Mike's tent with him, Sam, and Tom. The latter two are fixing to hook up, so almost everything has centered on that tonight. We've been playing Truth or Dare and, like clockwork, my first question was "Who on the line do you like?" courtesy of Sam. Naturally I copped out. I don't understand myself - I fucking want to at least tell someone before this whole ordeal is over, but I have no one to tell. I mean, Amit is fucking geeky, and while I have no issue with that... I guess I do, or something? I mean, I honestly think I have no issue with that, but whenever that particular topic comes up, I simultaneously embrace and shy away from it. Like talking to Mom tonight - I saved him for last on the list of 'goods' completely intentionally, then got all apologetic when I described him. Same thing when Jaime's come to visit. As much as I wanted to give her a heads up and ask her opinion, we really don't talk about relationships that much, and never about mine, especially in any seriousness. It's more of something I'd ask Kendra, as though she (of all people, haha) would understand why Lauren (who ostensibly could nab a lot of the line if she felt like it) would crush on a geek above all others.

It's just something more goofy, more pure than what I've gotten accustomed to - something quieter, less intrusive. It's certainly not anything I mind - I just wish I had the courage to really do something about it.

I never did get to sleep last night. I thought I would, since I kept dozing off while writing, but the nookiefication combined with passing garbage trucks kept me awake until 5.30, when I got up. Been a bit preoccupied, to the point that I just got back up, went to Duane Reade for film and moped a bit to Tori Amos.

So I'm putting out the spare chairs so they'll dry finally and I get accosted by CBS radio, right? Fucking 6.30am and I'm doing this long-ass interview in which the dude tried to make me out as a freak (no way!) after I admitted to fifty-five hours straight. Then talked with tall British Mark for a while, then listened to endless yomomma jokes from Vic and the two Bronx guys whose names I don't know, and now it's shift-changing time - twenty-four hours of line left - and I'm in a much better mood than I'd been in three hours ago.

Sky is clear. Fucking freezing though.

"What's this, a homeless movie?"

There's a sense of resignation and conclusion beginning to settle over the line - the beginning of the end. Ben and I actually reminisced about the first overnights - the blowjob businessmen - a few minutes ago. Has it been that long?

This morning featured endless railing against stupid pedestrians - even more than usual, because whenever someone said they'd donate tomorrow, the response once they were out of hearing range was something to the effect of "We won't be here tomorrow, fuckface." The whole affair would be a lot more saddening were it not for the knowledge that this time tomorrow, I'll be heading linewards in fucking costume to publicly whore myself for nine hours. Yeah!

It would seem that everyone on the line right now knows about Sam and Tom (save the antisocial school-cutter boys, who I'm sure don't give a fuck), and I'm wondering how they're going to keep Willow from finding out. She certainly seems happier with Tom, the only issue being the fact that he leaves in a week. Details.

Sixteen people here right now, but it seems like more. We're all bouncing all over the place.

Not to get all cornball here, but the excitement is becoming palpable. There are at least thirty people here right now, most of them watching a Spiderman rip; the first NY digital screening of AOTC is going down in the theatre, and I truly believe that I'm not alone in my utter disbelief at the fact that it's becoming a matter of hours (28.5, to be precise).

I cleared Cat's coming with Amit, and she's figuring out how she'll get here as I write this. I may end up wandering the Port Authority in costume, but it'll all be worth it. I'm so happy she's coming, even though we'll likely be sitting with the crowd of line regulars I've become so close to - they're nuts, she's nuts, and in the end, it's the room filled with 1200 fans (not the exact neighbors) that counts.

I really rather feel like shit right now. My twenty-eight sleepless hours are catching up with me, and while I kind of want to nap now, stay up for the marathon, then nap again, there's just no way in hell it'll happen. I chugged a chai, though, so I'm safe for a while.

I'll have to bring a second bag tomorrow, since I need comfy shoes (flipflops, I guess), camera, umbrella, journal in addition to my little white bag for film, money, phone, makeup. And a sweater - back to the tan sweater. Pigpen just got back after leaving at, like, eleven with his Japanese tourist girl plaything. Oh, squick.

I single-handedly just averted a major spoiler crisis involving Suzanne and a certain action figure Rick and I mangled earlier. 'Cause I rock.