(The next day, I think it's the 20th)
[note: January 20, 1996]
Odd. The pen I'm using is blue, but the ink is black. Well, I've studied math, and I'm STILL GOING TO FAIL miserably. I hope I pass. Damn. I really tried hard.
We went to see a fortune teller today. I'm going to live until I'm about 85 to 89. I'm going to have a serious boyfriend in two to three years. I'm going to have a long engagement, following by a marriage. I'm going to be married in my mid- to late twenties, and have kids in my late twenties to early thirties. It's supposed to be a successful marriage, with two or three kids. I'm going to go into business for myself and be financially secure. I'm going to marry someone whom I haven't met yet. My lucky numbers are 14 and 27. All the studying I've been doing will be beneficial in the end, and in the next three to six weeks, someone will reveal their true feelings. I'm supposed to follow my heart and not listen to what my friends say. Someone around me is not really on my side. They're badmouthing me behind my back. Okay.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Clearly drooling
Jan. 19/96
I wrote my English exam today. God, it was bad. Terrible, horrible--my essay made no sense. I'll be happy to pass. Please, by some miracle of god let me get an 85%--please. I'm so afraid because I have Bio and math on the same day, and Italian the next.
[marginalia: "To be thus is nothing; but to be safely thus..." "Macbeth hath murder'd sleep: Macbeth shall sleep no more."]
Oh! My parents care! "Don't write so close to the paper! You're going to go blind!"
Really strange. I can hear my arm moving. I've propped my head in my hand (on my ear) and I'm lying down and I can hear my arm move.
Questions.... If a lesbian gets a sex change, what does she become? How do fish and dogs kiss? I know they do, but do they kiss like people?
Ugh, it's very late, I'm very tired and also drooling. Night.
I wrote my English exam today. God, it was bad. Terrible, horrible--my essay made no sense. I'll be happy to pass. Please, by some miracle of god let me get an 85%--please. I'm so afraid because I have Bio and math on the same day, and Italian the next.
[marginalia: "To be thus is nothing; but to be safely thus..." "Macbeth hath murder'd sleep: Macbeth shall sleep no more."]
Oh! My parents care! "Don't write so close to the paper! You're going to go blind!"
Really strange. I can hear my arm moving. I've propped my head in my hand (on my ear) and I'm lying down and I can hear my arm move.
Questions.... If a lesbian gets a sex change, what does she become? How do fish and dogs kiss? I know they do, but do they kiss like people?
Ugh, it's very late, I'm very tired and also drooling. Night.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Everything is FUCKED
January 13, 1999
In as far as my academic life goes: I'm FUCKED. I have an essay due in exactly 48 hours and I don't even have enough resources. This is where I STOP procrastinating. Too bad I had to learn the lesson so late.
(somewhat later)
Serial killers--and mass murderers, too, as they seem to go hand in hand--are fucked. They're some scary SOBs. I don't get it. So, it's that they're disenfranchised, learning-disabled, repressed social climbing ex-bed wetters whose parents beat them, who liked torturing and dismembering animals and secretly keeping their carcasses before sending them to juvenile hall where they were either exposed to violent porn (thereby feeding a desire for nubile, beautiful women) or sodomized in the shower, causing them to embrace latent homosexuality? And that's what makes serial killer?
And nobody noticed before the mad killing sprees and the accumulated 'souvenirs'?
(somewhat later)
Yes! Major mental breakthrough! Not that I understand why they kill, but I can at least formulate a provisional thesis: "Sick fuckers though they may be, there are actually many factors which all contribute--in varying degrees between each individual case--to the development of a serial killer. Research suggests the most likely correlation to be the almost unvarying socioeconomic insecurity combined with unsuccessful attempts at joining a higher social class."
Okay, so maybe the part about them being sick fuckers is inappropriate. I might change that.
In as far as my academic life goes: I'm FUCKED. I have an essay due in exactly 48 hours and I don't even have enough resources. This is where I STOP procrastinating. Too bad I had to learn the lesson so late.
(somewhat later)
Serial killers--and mass murderers, too, as they seem to go hand in hand--are fucked. They're some scary SOBs. I don't get it. So, it's that they're disenfranchised, learning-disabled, repressed social climbing ex-bed wetters whose parents beat them, who liked torturing and dismembering animals and secretly keeping their carcasses before sending them to juvenile hall where they were either exposed to violent porn (thereby feeding a desire for nubile, beautiful women) or sodomized in the shower, causing them to embrace latent homosexuality? And that's what makes serial killer?
And nobody noticed before the mad killing sprees and the accumulated 'souvenirs'?
(somewhat later)
Yes! Major mental breakthrough! Not that I understand why they kill, but I can at least formulate a provisional thesis: "Sick fuckers though they may be, there are actually many factors which all contribute--in varying degrees between each individual case--to the development of a serial killer. Research suggests the most likely correlation to be the almost unvarying socioeconomic insecurity combined with unsuccessful attempts at joining a higher social class."
Okay, so maybe the part about them being sick fuckers is inappropriate. I might change that.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Oh, hormones.
Fri. Jan. 5/95
Well, today I got a lab guide for dissecting the fish. Oh, I can hardly wait to slit its belly open.
I endured French, suffered endless agonies through math, and went to have my photo taken. The photographer had packed up after 20 min, so I didn't get a re-take. I then ate lunch, was bored stiff in Italian, and laughed a lot in Geography. (Daniel is so funny!)
Yesterday I had an in-depth conversation with Cara. It was about The Jerk. It makes no sense for me to like him: we're absolutely incompatible. He's.... a jerk, I guess. Pushy. Sulky. Domineering. But cute and sweet sometimes. Help. Please, please. If anyone out there knows a good shrink, give me a call. I'm losing my mind over this guy, and Cara and Marlowe can tell we're not compatible. Hell, so can my YM magazine. And I can't understand why I like him so much. The Holy Grail Syndrome? Maybe. Maybe I should've never said no to fooling around with him, but then, I wasn't ready for that. I'm not sure what I'm ready for. I'll admit it, here: when we were kissing, I was scared. I know, I know it sounds stupid, but I was really afraid that we'd wind up doing more than necessary, or that I'd wind up in an unfavourable, compromising position.
Cara thinks it's because I'm sexually attached to him. (Figuratively, here. NOT literally.) But we didn't have sex or anything. So I dunno. But I wonder what if I did make out with him again and fool around. Anyways, I've got to get over it. It'll be easier if I just get over it. Move on, and let go.
I was supposed to sleep over at Cara's tonight, but she went babysitting and didn't call. Needless to say, I'm slightly ticked. Np. I'm tired from my stressful day.
Well, today I got a lab guide for dissecting the fish. Oh, I can hardly wait to slit its belly open.
I endured French, suffered endless agonies through math, and went to have my photo taken. The photographer had packed up after 20 min, so I didn't get a re-take. I then ate lunch, was bored stiff in Italian, and laughed a lot in Geography. (Daniel is so funny!)
Yesterday I had an in-depth conversation with Cara. It was about The Jerk. It makes no sense for me to like him: we're absolutely incompatible. He's.... a jerk, I guess. Pushy. Sulky. Domineering. But cute and sweet sometimes. Help. Please, please. If anyone out there knows a good shrink, give me a call. I'm losing my mind over this guy, and Cara and Marlowe can tell we're not compatible. Hell, so can my YM magazine. And I can't understand why I like him so much. The Holy Grail Syndrome? Maybe. Maybe I should've never said no to fooling around with him, but then, I wasn't ready for that. I'm not sure what I'm ready for. I'll admit it, here: when we were kissing, I was scared. I know, I know it sounds stupid, but I was really afraid that we'd wind up doing more than necessary, or that I'd wind up in an unfavourable, compromising position.
Cara thinks it's because I'm sexually attached to him. (Figuratively, here. NOT literally.) But we didn't have sex or anything. So I dunno. But I wonder what if I did make out with him again and fool around. Anyways, I've got to get over it. It'll be easier if I just get over it. Move on, and let go.
I was supposed to sleep over at Cara's tonight, but she went babysitting and didn't call. Needless to say, I'm slightly ticked. Np. I'm tired from my stressful day.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
New angst for a new year
Jan 5/94
I awoke this morning, ate, got ready for school, and left. I arrived early, and I talked with DW. I went to class, chatted, and had mentorship. At 9:30, I went to swim class. (Pamala called me a flirt because I was joking around with Jordan. I went to English, went to a newspaper meeting, went to History, went to Science, did a lab, and went home. I waited for my parents to come home (they called, saying they were going to be late), went swimming, came home, ate, helped clean, watched 10 min of TV after talking to Cara, and put some stuff in the washing machine to be washed.
Bad mistake.
After re-arranging the books on my shelves, my brother, who'd gone down to the kitchen for whatever purpose, yelled to come down because the machine was overflowing. Correction. The sink in which the machine emptied its water was overflowing.
Immediately my brother and I went into action. We mopped up 3/4 of the water on the basement floor, and 1/4, maybe 1/2 of the water in the laundry room. At this point in time, my parents came home.
They spazzed. Severely spazzed. My dad yelled at us incessantly (for being stupid: why didn't we hear the water overflowing in the basement, even though we were on the second floor?) Plus, he'd redone the drywall the week before, so Dad was pretty irate over that.
Basically, it was not my ideal way to finish off the night.
How cheery.
I awoke this morning, ate, got ready for school, and left. I arrived early, and I talked with DW. I went to class, chatted, and had mentorship. At 9:30, I went to swim class. (Pamala called me a flirt because I was joking around with Jordan. I went to English, went to a newspaper meeting, went to History, went to Science, did a lab, and went home. I waited for my parents to come home (they called, saying they were going to be late), went swimming, came home, ate, helped clean, watched 10 min of TV after talking to Cara, and put some stuff in the washing machine to be washed.
Bad mistake.
After re-arranging the books on my shelves, my brother, who'd gone down to the kitchen for whatever purpose, yelled to come down because the machine was overflowing. Correction. The sink in which the machine emptied its water was overflowing.
Immediately my brother and I went into action. We mopped up 3/4 of the water on the basement floor, and 1/4, maybe 1/2 of the water in the laundry room. At this point in time, my parents came home.
They spazzed. Severely spazzed. My dad yelled at us incessantly (for being stupid: why didn't we hear the water overflowing in the basement, even though we were on the second floor?) Plus, he'd redone the drywall the week before, so Dad was pretty irate over that.
Basically, it was not my ideal way to finish off the night.
How cheery.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Those who do not learn from the past....
January 3, 2001
Seth called me today, again, and I think he's back on the once-a-day attentiveness kick. That should last until classes start again. Oh, yeah, he doesn't want a girlfriend, I get that part, yeah, right.... And you know, he doesn't have time for a girlfriend because he's at the top of his priority list.... And it's really nice that he tells me "way too much" about things I never even asked. (What, exactly, did he learn while working for the police? How can he not know when to keep his mouth shut?) It's also sweet that this is the fourth time or so he's called because I supposedly called him.... Except, of course, that I didn't, and unless I'm reading way too much into it, he's playing the same games I do.
This is completely ridiculous. Why would he call me, chat for half an hour, call me again, wish me sweet dreams and all that stuff, and promise to call me tomorrow (he'll break it) if he's going to act like an asshole every other week?
Max and I have been kind of formal at work. I don't like that. I think, though, that he wrote my name on my car after work. It had snowed all over the rear window, and on the huge glass gate someone had written my name. I think that's kinda cute. He's the only one who drives, other than Effie and me, so I assume/extrapolate it to have been him.
Seth called me today, again, and I think he's back on the once-a-day attentiveness kick. That should last until classes start again. Oh, yeah, he doesn't want a girlfriend, I get that part, yeah, right.... And you know, he doesn't have time for a girlfriend because he's at the top of his priority list.... And it's really nice that he tells me "way too much" about things I never even asked. (What, exactly, did he learn while working for the police? How can he not know when to keep his mouth shut?) It's also sweet that this is the fourth time or so he's called because I supposedly called him.... Except, of course, that I didn't, and unless I'm reading way too much into it, he's playing the same games I do.
This is completely ridiculous. Why would he call me, chat for half an hour, call me again, wish me sweet dreams and all that stuff, and promise to call me tomorrow (he'll break it) if he's going to act like an asshole every other week?
Max and I have been kind of formal at work. I don't like that. I think, though, that he wrote my name on my car after work. It had snowed all over the rear window, and on the huge glass gate someone had written my name. I think that's kinda cute. He's the only one who drives, other than Effie and me, so I assume/extrapolate it to have been him.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A bright outlook for a happy new year!
January 1st 1997
As I sit here at my desk, pen in hand, pie within reach, I find myself compelled to compile a list of New Year's Resolutions (cue ominous music). First, I would like to lose weight. Say, 15 pounds. 10-15 pounds. And keep it off. Second, I would like to be quieter.
I would like to be nicer to myself, but that's impossible. Better grades, yeah, that's there, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)