I love the first page of a brand new diary. It's like a fresh start. A new beginning.
I don't know how many notebooks I've filled in my life, but it's a lot. I've written down everything that's happened to me since I was twelve. Every zit, every date, every hope, and every dream.
Of course, I'm not twelve anymore.
And I don't have zits.
But I do still have hopes and dreams….
Are cops allowed to have hopes and dreams?
I hope so, because I don't think I can stop now.
Sometimes I hate my name.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to be taken seriously when all people want to do is crack Romeo jokes?
I guess being cute and blonde doesn't help, but that's not my fault. I didn't ask to be cute. Or blonde.
People just take one look at me and assume I'm nice. Or a doormat.
I'm not a doormat.
I'm not even that nice.
I kick puppies!
Ok…I kicked a puppy. Once.
I was four, and I didn't kick him as much as accidentally step on his tail.
And I cried.
But, still. I'm not nice!
Thanksgiving is in two days. I really wanted to go home…but I have to work.
As my partner said, "Crime doesn't stop for turkey, O'Hara!"
He's not bad, most of the time. My partner, that is. Carleton Lassiter.
He's kind of hard to describe. He's like Dirty Harry…but less dirty.
If you can picture that.
At least he's never made a lame Romeo joke.
Or any joke at all, actually.
I don't think the idea has ever occurred to him.
So, Gus is going home for Thanksgiving.
Everyone has somewhere to go.
Even Shawn, who is trying to get out of going to his Dad's.
"You've never had a Spencer Thanksgiving," he explained. "It's kind of like eating with the Mason family…except without the unified sense of purpose."
I'm not sure what that means….but it sounds like fun to me.
I guess I'll be here.
Maybe I'll buy a turkey frozen dinner.