Saturday, March 31 Happy birthday, younger brother. (He turns 12 today.) »
Friday, March 30 Imagine vomiting when you coughed. Now, imagine being drugged up on every over-the-counter drug possible right before this happens. And imagine that you're shaking convulsively at 4 am and can't seem to walk in a straight line. And then you vomit at 5 am all over your mother's newly-washed sheets, which now are their natural brown with the vomit addition of yellows and oranges. Lastly, imagine that you could make it through the day -- and believe me, you want to -- by going to school, but you're forced to stay at home and being compeletly bored out of your mind.
Welcome to Diana's day. Watch your step, please.
Yesterday, like I said, I had a throat problem. Looking back, there is no way in hell that crying would cause me to throw up like this. It's just sheer irony that they both occurred in the same space of time. My throat problem was worse during the day, and it got to the point where I sounded like I had been smoking for half a century. Yes, Diana had a smoker's voice. Don't laugh too loudly at that one. So, last night as I slept all snuggled in my bed, some major draft came through and I started shaking convulsively because I couldn't get warm. I stumbled into my mom's room (I ran into my bedroom door once, sadly to say) and curled up next to her. She realized that I was going into some crazy spastic attack and gave me Tylenol as well as a few too many fluids. An hour later, I bolted upright and realized that if I tried to make it to the bathroom to throw up, I'd tumble in my mother's bedroom sheets. Plus, I was sort of pinned down between my mother (on my left) and my younger brother (on my right). So, I did was I felt was reasonable at that space of time: I threw up in my hands. It was as icky as it sounds. I few minutes later, I coughed (literally) more fluid-like vomit. It got on the sheets. It got on my pajamas. It was in globs on my fingers. It was in my hair. (I had to snip a few ends this morning.) It was everywhere. After we cleaned up, I went to sleep in my own bedroom with very little of any problems.
So, here I sit. I cleaned the living room, I downloaded a few choice songs off the Internet, and I've taken a much-needed shower. And I can say, with very little lying, that I feel so much better now that I've vomited. »
Thursday, March 29 I dislike "Fred". There's no denying that anymore.
Me: (thinking that I'm speaking to Him online) My mom wishes to know about your report card grade.
"Fred": He's not doing too good, D. Neither am I. So we're both going to spend time everyday kicking each other's asses about doing homework, so that we can actually have a summer.
Me: I see.
"Fred": Momma (referring to His mother) put a whole bunch of restrictions on both of us until we get our grades up.
Me: Including not talking to me, I figure?
"Fred": Well...
Me: I take that as a yes.
"Fred": As long as his grades stay up, he can talk on the phone. But you can't see each other on weekdays. For now.
Me: And yet you can. That's priceless.
"Fred": You know what, listen up. I'm down here trying to save my best friend's ass, and I don't appreciate the implications you are making. So, please, for once, just understand that we have some other stuff to do.
Complete shocker coming from "Fred", whom I usually expected (up until the past few weeks) to be kind about situations like these. Of course, "Fred" is currently breezing his way through girlfriend number four of the school year and seems highly stressed out. A little bit later, I feel worse.
"Fred": It isn't only how this (being grounded from me) affects you, He's upset about not being able to see you, too.
Me: I'm not going to argue. I'm already fucking crying again.
"Fred": Just understand for once. Honestly, how can you expect to be here? You will be nothing but a distraction to Him. He won't want to do homework when you're here. He'll want to be with you. Do me a favour, don't give him grief about it. He's getting enough from his mom, and me.
Me: I won't give him grief. I barely see him.
"Fred": Everyday at school and over the weekends. Barely, my ass.
Me: He works. He has other things to do. He skips.
"Fred": He has a life besides you, too. Ok, get over it!
Me: Why do you have to be mean?
"Fred": Because that's the only way I can be right now.
Me: Because I'm being the bitch.
"Fred": Honestly, yeah... kinda, sorta.
Me: I'll leave you both alone.
"Fred": I still love you, okay, but you need to stop asking why and realize that shit happens. It'll all be okay. Just give it time.
Me: His parents will send Him off to some Army (GED) thing for 22 weeks if He doesn't get His grades up. No outside communication. I don't want that to happen. That's why I'm crying.
"Fred": Stop being selfish, for lack of a better word. That's not going to happen because I'm not going to let it happen.
Me: What makes me selfish?
"Fred": Expecting him to revolve his life around you, which he tries to do anyway. Just think about it, and let's just both help him get these grades up and get straight. Be supportive, and understand when He says He can't talk to you, or He can't come to see you, or He needs to study.
Me: How am I supposted to be supportive when I have you shattering my ego?
"Fred": Sorry, but I'm just being straight-up.
My throat hurts from crying so much over this stupid topic. And, ironically enough, it's raining outside. »
Wednesday, March 28 Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band / Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man / Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand / And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand / Jesus freaks out in the street / Handing tickets out for God / Turning back she just laughs / The boulevard is not that bad / Piano man he makes his stand / In the auditorium / Looking on she sings the songs / The words she knows, the tune she hums / But oh how it feels so real / Lying here with no one near / Only you and you can hear me / When I say softly, slowly / Hold me closer tiny dancer / Count the headlights on the highway / Lay me down in sheets of linen / you had a busy day today / Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band / Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man / Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand / And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand...
Elton John, "Tiny Dancer" »
Tuesday, March 27 There have been some technicalities in my life in the past week or so, and it was getting pretty high up on Diana's stress-o-meter. Most of the problems can't be explained because they just involve me. I cried myself to sleep a few nights and tried to just forget the moments of sorrow (when they occur, at least) and try to smile my way through life. That's how I've done it up to now: smile your way through life, give a little wave and dance, and then walk away into a corner to express any sad emotions. And, well, today at lunch kind of kicked me hard. Not as hard as it could've. It just made me think of my future. It made me think of what kind of future I was on and what I would think of it in the future. One day in the future, I want kids. I want to get married and live in the North Carolina mountains and have a job that I like. I want to go to college. I want lots of things out of life, most of them I am unsure if they'll actually happen one day. This was bugging me.
So, I took a walk. It was a short walk -- only down to the next street and back -- and the coldness took effect to my scrawny little arms and scrawny little legs. I watched the sun set and watched boxing through people's windows. Some 1980s music was playing from someone's garage. Cars passed by only inches away from me. Some slowed down to probably stare at my ass. I smirked a few times at the passer-bys. They didn't smirk too much back at me. And the thing that made the whole ordeal more pleasant is that I didn't give a fuck. I just walked down the road and went back into my little house. The walk hasn't helped too much with my problems, but it made me realize that there's always going to be something worse in life than whatever's happening with you now... and you probably won't experience the worst until you die. »
Sunday, March 25 I need extracurricular activities. A job, a sport, an enjoyment, a busybody. I need to keep myself busy to get stress off me. I need to find something to do, something to play, something to get. I need a fulfillment that comes out of having a job. I need to have the satisfaction of wearing a nametag. I need to be somewhere other than at home in my pajamas. I need to find a part-time job that makes me smile without being forced to. I need to get somewhere and do something other than this. I need to rely on myself for money, not my parents. I need to be able to say that I bought something with my own money. I need to say "yes, I have a job". I need to be able to get Him something more than flowers. I need to be able to be somewhere, doing something, not paying attention to the real world.
I need to get things out of my head.
I turn 16 in a week. I have no goals, no specialty, no cares. And that really bites that I don't, because my parents always said that I had so much going for myself. He has a job, and He's been working. Quite frankly, waiting around for Him isn't my slice of cake. I don't want to get a job with Him, because we'd end up killing each other before the first week is done. I'd get jealous that He talks to other gals and ignores my prescense. That has happened before, and it ended up being an entire rage-out yelling-and-kicking fight. Not too precious to watch, I assure you. I'd rather be somewhere that I don't have to see too many people I know and can make new friends and live in an alternative universe for a few hours... and get paid for it, too, I guess. There's just some things I want to fix right now. And maybe if I were in an enclosed area where I wouldn't be face-to-face with anyone but myself, then things would suddenly feel refreshed. And then, maybe, my cell phone could start getting phone calls. »
Thursday, March 22 Look at this stuff / Isn't it neat? / Wouldn't you think my collection's complete? / Wouldn't you think I'm the girl / The girl who has ev'rything? / Look at this trove / Treasures untold / How many wonders can one cavern hold? / Lookin' around here you'd think / Sure, she's got everything / I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty / I've got whozits and whatzits galore / [You want thingamabobs? / I got twenty] / But who cares? / No big deal / I want more / I wanna be where the people are / I wanna see / Wanna see 'em dancin' / Walkin' around on those feet / Flippin' your fins you don't get too far / Legs are required for jumpin', dancin' / strollin' along down a street / Up where they walk / Up where they run / Up where they stay all day in the sun / Wanderin' free / Wish I could be / Part of that world / What would I give / If I could live / Outta these waters? / What would I pay / To spend a day / Warm on the sand? / Betcha on land / They understand / Bet they don't reprimand their daughters / Bright young women / Sick o' swimmin' / Ready to stand / And ready to know what the people know / Ask 'em my questions / And get some answers / What's a fire and why does it burn? / When's it my turn? / Wouldn't I love / Love to explore that shore above? / Out of the sea / Wish I could be / Part of that world... »
Tuesday, March 20 I despise dentists. Since I was a wee one, I've always preferred the childhood family doctor over the dentist, just because my mom was friends with all of the nurses and they were extra-nice to my needs and gave me stickers. All of the dentist's aids are the grandparents of the ex-boyfriends of enemies that now go to some preppy high school. It's not as thrilling as the doctor's office, either, because you just sit there in those uncomfortable chairs while bright lights shine over you and listen to overplayed music overhead. Whereas, in the doctor's office, you stand on the scales, sit on those beds, lay on those beds, wear fashionable paper, and just kind of sit there and pay attention to whatever the lady says. The place at the dentist's office is far more of a bore than the atmosphere at the doctor's.
I have cavities; one will require a root canal and quite a bit of numbing. There are others, mostly near the back, which are actually already-filled cavities that have (sadly and sickenly enough) been "eaten through". My teeth aren't too pretty. Sure, on photos, they look all purty but in real life, they've got marks from my bouts with braces and abusing my retainer afterwards. And I guess that when I go to the dentist on Friday (of all days of the week), I'll have to face the consequences of being evil to the only thing that keeps me from eating Jell-o the rest of my life. And the dentist will say, "Diana, you should've been brushing better" and start yelling at me about gingivitis. Then the dentist's assistants will start asking me about my schooling and ask if I know this grandson or this school or this or that. And I'll just sit there in that chair, imagining that I'm in a calmer family doctor's office and that the bright lights aren't really shining in my eyes. »
Monday, March 19 I saw Taylor. He was in his dad's car on Highway 80. If I hadn't turned around, then we wouldn't have made eye contact. He was taller and more mature-looking. I don't know if he knew it was me when he waved, or if he just thought that he'd be nice and wave towards a girl staring at him. Then the car turned onto Johnny Mercer Boulevard and I wasn't going that way.
Taylor used to consider me a best friend. We never talked on the phone (other than to find out a class assignment) and we never had any deep and private moments to just say hello to each other. He was funny to me. He was also a polite, well-brought-up boy that told perverted jokes and -- as later found out -- liked to fondle his girlfriends during school. I don't know why I had some sort of friendship fantasy with him -- he probably didn't like me at all, but rather considered me as an outcast on his only-blond-with-boob friends. Maybe he felt sorry for me. Maybe he was just used to me being in all of his classes since fourth grade.
All I know is that I was able to reconize him almost immediately. And, if things were kept in their proper places over time, Taylor was able to reconize me. And that's how I'd want to remember it. »
Sunday, March 18 My ranting entry got deleted, and I'm more pissed than I was a minute ago. So, to make this short, let me list the things that are currently bugging me, in no particular order (this isn't a pretty list):
. My father won't leave me alone. Since my older brother is visiting, my dad has decided to morph into macho-man and do some funky stuff around the house, particularly bugging me nonstop today about stupid things ranging from doing the dishes to getting a new trashcan (he opposed it). He won't get off my case because he has to prove to be the macho one in this household, and it bothers me. Once my brother leaves (tomorrow), my dad will try to act all cool around me once again. At least my mom's siding with me this time. She's calling all of dad's downpoints.. Tripod wants me sacrificed to the pitbulls for something I didn't do. Because, obviously, someone thought it was necessary to tell Tripod that I was infringing the terms and agreements, thus getting all of dulled.tripod.com deleted, including all images and files (particularly the older archives, which cannot be replaced no matter how hard I try to bitch and moan) that are very dear to me. I haven't bothered trying to argue with them -- I just moved my things to another Tripod location and made use with what I have. One day, I'll own something like blackhead.com (or a similiar controversial teenypop URL) and dedicate a whole section to how much the Internet hates me. Then I'll sell the story on eBay, get a few pieces at Amazon, and find myself retired from the 'net for a long, long time.
. He and I have been having arguments. They've been stupid ones, too, that go from the idea that He wanted to go to Atlanta with "Fred" and a chick (!) that He'd probably have to share a bed with... again. We got into one of those fights tonight, too, about other girls. I trust him. I trust him completely. But I don't trust some of the things He does. Like, for instance, He's picking up a girl for school tomorrow. He wants to give me a ride, but I told Him that I don't know how I'll get along with the chick. So, He gives up on offering me a ride. Whereas, if the other chick told Him that, He'd still kick me out. It's not like it bothers me too much, anyway. One day, He'll get off his high stool and realize that skipping school isn't all that it's cracked up to be (especially once His mother finds out), and that His other bad habits have consequences.
. March 29 is coming quickly, and I have no idea what I'm going to do. Isn't March 29 a Thursday? I hate Thursday schedules, and I'm going to particularly hate the idea of having first and sixth period in complete lonliness. (I'll probably get more detailed with this one in the future.)
. My uterus is giggling right now, and it's getting ready to start uproaring, if you get my drift. Maybe I need some of those "happy pills" that "Fred" takes for his headaches (or so he claims). Hope for a happier (and less moody) Diana tomorrow, okay? »
Saturday, March 17 So, today was the parade, famous for causing hundreds and thousands of people to suddenly come to Savannah and perhaps get lucky. I would go on about my afternoon, but I'd rather just give you an excerpt of an overly zealous religious paper that was handed out sometime during the parade (I found this one on the floor):
Thousands of people were on River Street, many of them stumbling half drunk or full drunk, some with their tongues uttering foul words from hell. Many want to forget God so they can embrace evil and sinful pleasures. Sin flourished on River Street and Bay Street (a nearby street) on St. Patrick['s] Day. Some do not have time for God but find time to sin against God. [They] are toying with eternity and selling their souls to Hell. Many will refuse Christ and carry on their sinful lifestyle until death. »
Friday, March 16 My last concert pales in comparison to the experience of this one. This one, unlike the last one, was outside and not even close to any holiday celebrates so greatly as this one. All I can really say about the entire experience is wow, wow, wow. We got there just as the band before him was ending, and thus it gave us time to move forward in the crowd. When Angie came out, he started throwing Pez into the audience. The crowd was getting hectic at that point, so somewhere in there, beer was thrown all over the people I was with. Everyone everywhere decided it was a smoke break, and people were becoming restless. But as soon as Angie started singing and whatnot, it seemed alright. It seemed as if it didn't really matter that my hair was sticky or I had the smell of cigarettes in my nose. All that really mattered much at that time was the music. I lightly headbang, every now and then thrusting my hand in the air.
The last song on the list was one of my personal favorites, "Spaceship". During the song, near the end, I looked up at the sky. It was amazing. I could've stood there forever watching the clouds of smoke maneuvering over me. It was amazing. At the end of the song, Patsy (whom was standing behind me) put her arms over my shoulders. I leaned back and just smiled because suddenly everything felt so perfect again... it was as if no fighting ever occurred between us. All of the people that I was with (besides Patsy, there was Meredith, Ophelya, Kelly, and Stribling) started screaming like crazy when he finished the song. I was amazed... simply amazed...
After the Aparo segment, we all decided to stand near the fence that separated backstage from the front. We were waiting for Dan, the guitarist. After screaming his name, his wiry body meandered towards us. Patsy, the obvious biggest fan of all of us, starts to go crazy. It's amazing to watch her be so happy. Kelly buys the CD and talks to him about U2 and future shows, and a guy ends up coming up to him to have his birth certificate (!) signed. After a moment or so, he waves us goodbye...wow. Wow, wow, wow. Amazing night... I can't even try to explain it all. »
Wednesday, March 14 I was going through last year's notebook and I found some notes from people. I found a few outdated letters from Him, a couple of scribbles and doodles from Meredith, and a couple of querks from Patsy. None of the notes seemed to have any negativity to them - it was just seemingly a more sedated point in everyone's life, when we'd all just giggle about a video in art class or make up stupid (yet funny) band names like Crazy Albert. It was the time between our writing stage with Stribling and our escalator to maturity. Last year, it all wasn't so prodiminant. This year, it's becoming higher and higher on the chain of life. I'm afraid of heights. I don't know if I ever mentioned that.
It's Saint Patrick's Day weekend. We get a half-day of school tomorrow and the entire Friday off. It's a really big event around here, with lots of crazy little things going on here and there. Mainly, it's all about the parade, which boasts to be the second-longest St. Patrick's Day parade in America -- with only New York's festivities ahead. There's going to be some live music downtown tomorrow -- I'll be attending it all, and I think I'll be back alive to mention the highlights of the big performer. Sigh. »
Tuesday, March 13 Sure, we had stupid humor and didn't entirely think that making sense was the best thing in the world. And, in a way, we were happier when we didn't care about other people's opinions about our writings skills. That's why Megan (Meredith), Stribling (a partner in crime) and I wrote the chronicles, which basically encircled around our sarcastic and slapstick humor, as well as our opinions on politics (like Bill Clinton) and celebrities. We included a few of our friends (like dear pal Brandon and not-so-dear Maria) in the storylines and mixed a bit of what was really happening in our second-period computer class along with our willing imaginations. I kind of miss those days when I had that sense of humor... Meredith/Megan still does, and Stribling has it lurking around.
We wrote these stories in seventh and eighth grade; these stories date back as far as three years ago. Things seemed happier back then, less complex. Less disturbing. I didn't care so much about my future as I do now, and I smiled quite a bit at stupid things like people making monkey sounds. These stories are all I have left of my "youthful years". Maybe one day, I'll return to those times.
"Sniff... so many memories." Megan said as a tear two miles across dripped down her face. The tear hit Taylor Hanson, knocking him out. Luke jumped up onto the roof of the school as the water rose above their heads... »
Monday, March 12 "You can't do it, Diana," he said matter-of-factly. "There is no way you can take a shower in seven minutes." At that moment, with that demure smile on his face, I felt the urge to prove my always-right father wrong. Grabbing new clothes, I dashed into the shower. Somehow, I managed to take a two-and-a-half minute shower, washing my body once and my hair twice. As I entered the kitchen (where my surprised father stood), I hollared, "Two and a half! Two! You were wrong!" After that, I felt more accepted by him.
I came out of the bathroom, in total, after five minutes. I had two minutes left to put my socks on. »
Sunday, March 11 Working near farm animals is perhaps one of the better places to be volunteering at in a wildlife refuge. It's all about interactivity: you can touch the animals, you can feed the animals, and you can make a two-year-old boy's dreams come true by touching a goat. For seven hours, Meredith and I volunteered at a wildlife refuge. We fed goats, stroked a cow, and went inside the pig's cage area. I saw parents laugh themselves to tears, young couples giggle and hold hands, and senior citizens crack a smile. Videotape recorders were buzzing, little girls romped around with sheep feed, and every new parents carried a backpack. Every adult giggled at the "pig will bite" sign for being so blunt, and all of the parents imitated the oink.
After the seven hours, as the crowd died down, we started to put away the left-over food. We swept the cabin area and took down all of the signs. With a final hug from Cecil (the lady in charge), Meredith and I walked down the pathway -- past the ponies, past the feeding station -- and onward home. »
Wednesday, March 7 Today has been good to me. To sum it all up, I will -- for now -- just list the names of the songs on a mixed CD that Kelly made for me today. (There's been quite a few positive points in the day, but it's best to just display the songs to reflect some energy -- I'm bad with explaining things all strung-out, particularly when I'm not supposed to explain some things, anyway.)
1. "Beautiful Day" -- U2 (The chorus mainly describes my thoughts and desires of today.)
2. "Thank You" -- Dido (For some reason, this song reminds me of my life with Him right now. We don't speak much, but when we do we tend to make every moment of it seem best.)
3. "Joga" -- Bjork (This song best describes the previous days of the week -- "this state of emergency/is where I want to be"...)
4. "Southside" -- Moby (Another song with Him -- I got a ride with Him today, and we had to roam through the ghetto. Bad reference, but whatever.)
5. "Show Me the Way to Your Heart" -- Sara Evans (This is a basic over-view of my friends... without being entirely sexual. Mainly in a common "what's up?" fashion.)
6. "Disarm" -- Smashing Pumpkins
7. "Sweet Dreams" -- Marilyn Manson
8. "Fast Car" -- Tracy Chapman (This reminds me of Patsy. Or, at least, what I assume she's thinking about.)
9. "This is Halloween" -- Nightmare Before Christmas
10. "Spaceship" -- Angie Aparo (It's sort of with Meredith -- just a "happy-go-lucky-but-has-a-meaning-deep-down" sort of thing.)
11. "Walking in Memphis" -- Cher (My song -- "but do I really feel the way I feel?")
12. "Crash Into Me" -- Dave Matthews Band (For some reason, Tom came directly into mind. I was thinking about you...)
13. "Everybody Hurts" -- REM (Enough said. It's been a rough start of the week with everyone.)
14. "Damaged" -- Plumb »
Tuesday, March 6 Cowboy Pete's reasons to live, compiled today in 6th period: *
1. Because he [/she/it] needs to see the "dilemma" [between friends] end.
2. Because Cowboy Jim would not like facing Algebra class (Useless for cowboys, [by the way].) and his[/her/its] strange teacher, alone.
3. Because Cowboy Pete needs to go to Ireland and college.
4. Because Cowboy Sputnik would be the lone XF obssesee.
5. It would make the music industry very sad. (as Cowboy Pete has been known to like music and pay mucho deneiro for it.)
6. Because Mr. Halstead would miss saying the words "pompous ass" and pissing Cowboy Pete off.
7. Because Cowboy Pete's parents would go even more crazy if she/he/it was not around to argue with things.
8. Because Cowboy Pete likes his/her/it's friends. (the ones talking to her/him/it, anyway)
9. Because Cowboy Pete would miss sour gummy worms too much.
10. Because Cowboy Pete loves life. »
Saturday, March 3 He got his license today and surprised me by driving over here solo. I was surprised, and I went along with His little games of venturing around the area, and eventually He left to stay at "Fred's" house for the night. Then I sat down in front of the mirror -- where it seems that I always end up sitting, anyway -- and got teary-eyed. I eventually began crying over the idea that He was able to drive. And that He will be getting a job, and I won't see Him nearly as much as I did a year ago. I also know that He has the ability to just go and leave. He has the ability to be free, and I still have a permit. And I know that I am nowhere near ready for a license. I don't want one because it won't make me happy because it won't make Him happy. It won't make Him happy because He got his license and me having a license is no big thrill in His life. Or at least, it's not such a big thrill as I made Him having a license.
So I sat down on my bed and read Rolling Stone magazine with Angelina Jolie on the cover until I calmed down. I read about the cast of American Pie and I realized how terribly badly I felt like watching that movie. And I realized, for the second time that night, If I could have my license, I could just go and rent the fucking movie myself. And I started crying again, and I didn't try to stop this time until I could hear my dad's feet pitter-patter against the floor. I wiped away my tears. I called Him up to ask when He wanted me to call Him tomorrow. He asked why I sounded so weary and frail. I told Him I was tired. It's getting easier to lie to Him. Really, it is. »
I've been reading a lot in the past two weeks. I bought two books off of half.com, and borrowed the other two from the local library. It's amazing in that library... it's been awhile, it seems, since I actually walked in there and checked out a book that wasn't just for school project purposes. Over the years, their variety in reading materials has really flown through the roof, and I felt as if I could stay in there all day.
I would go through and mention what I liked particularly about each book, but I never had high dreams of making this webspace into a critic's corner. So, instead, I'll let you make up your own minds about the books. (They're all fictional stories with happy endings, by the way. I didn't feel that I should get too morbid with my choices.) I read the wonderous Thumbsucker by Walter Kirn first, followed by The Wishbones by Tom Perrotta, Syrup: A Novel by Maxx Barry, and finally the bewildering love-dripped female-written-and-narrated book, The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank. All are highly recommended for your personal reading pleasure. »
Thursday, March 1 According to a book I borrowed from the nearby library, I have found out the following things about myself, just from looking at my handwriting:
For one, I am immature (due to the swirly-like figures, mainly found in my ys and hs), optimistic (my handwriting accelerates), mathmatically gifted and good visual memory (since my script - handwriting - is connected), tendency to be depressed and neurotic (since I press down on my pen a lot - it's not obvious on this, sadly enough; the pen sucks), spontaneous, careless, and independent (since my margins go more and more left), and lack good judgement (since, when I sign my name, it goes in an upwards angle - also not shown). Isn't that too interesting for words. »
