I took a bus home this weekend. The bus driver was eating chips and drinking pop and didn't have his hands on the steering wheel while he was driving. It doesn't actually bother me, but I figure it might make my mom think that's why I don't take a bus. Maybe she'll come pick me up now. I doubt it.
I got a grad dress this weekend. It's strapless, so I'm going to have to do something about that (probably in the way of a clear strapped bra) and it's blue. It has some ruching on the skirt but that's okay. Tomorrow I find out if it has to be rushed (apparently it takes like four months to get a dress ordered and my grad is at the end of May) and we'll have to pay extra if it is. I also found out that I have very wide hips.
Sucks, but whatever. Like Laura says, we have "child bearing hips" which is funny because Caitlyn, who's a size zero or two or something has narrow hips and she's the only one of us who wants children.
I have to buy some shoes and start practicing walking in them. I can't trip at grad. It'd be funny, but I don't want to get hurt (especially since I already hurt my damn ankle in grade 9).
That's just one less thing to worry about.
Yay!
I'm happy.
I actually felt like writing today, which is good. But I noticed that it wasn't as easy as it is when I write a lot. I know, I know. Practice makes perfect, but I'm lazy.
I will try to write more, but that is a jinx. Every time I say it (usually about journals) I never follow through. And I don't know if I already wrote this (I know I've said it, but maybe I didn't write it) but I'm going to wait to write my other novels (yes there are two in the works) until after I've finished at least the second draft of JF.
I want to be done with it.
I want to publish it.
I want to be a writer, but I'm too afraid of failure to put all my hopes and dreams on it. I figure I'll go to Lakeland in the fall and study to become a Pharmacy Technician and I'll write after work/school and finish this and the other novels. Hopefully I can publish them, just to have it out there. I don't care about money.
Well I do, but I don't care about making money on my novels.
Okay, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Finish this one.
Go to college.
Write the other two.
Et cetera.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Just Flowers, Chapter 6
Bryn woke up an hour later, amazed she had gotten to sleep at all. She stretched her arms and shoulders and felt her hot face with her cold hands and looked at the clock on her night stand. It was seven, but it hadn't occurred to her why the house was so quiet. Usually, the TV would be on (and Angelica would be passed out in front of it) and music would be blaring from the computer room. All the lights would be on, but Bryn was in complete darkness.
She left her room and explored the dark house. Neither member of the family could be found and, as Bryn made her way to the kitchen, found the lamp above the stove was the only light left on. Taped to the cabinet where Ellie stored her recipes she never cooked was a note.
'We went for supper.'
"Whoopee." She sighed.
Dropping the paper on the counter, Bryn retraced her steps to her room and shut the door.
"What should I do?" she asked the stale air. "Laundry?" She looked at an overflowing hamper. "Nah, better leave it for Ellie. Music? Yes."
She hit the play button on her stereo and a slow, sweet ballad came on. Bryn shrugged. "It works."
She opened the window, hitting the ledge once for good luck and stuck her head out. She closed her eyes as the cold night touched her face.
Bryn was drawn back to a memory when she and Ellie went for a drive without their mother. Their windows were down and music was pulsing through them. Driving along, Bryn had looked at her sister and realized how much alike they looked.
They were only a year and a half apart, but they were so close. Bryn wondered every time she covered for their mother's drunkenness why she kept up the charade. Why, even a few weeks ago, had Bryn tried to clean up the vodka bottle?
"I didn't want her to know," she murmured.
Bryn pulled herself back in and shut the window. She remembered the box. She rummaged through it, taking out each item (pictures, Jen's favourite book, an old ring Jen used to wear) and setting it down beside her on the floor.
"The notebook," she whispered.
Bryn pushed some things around trying to find it. She grabbed handfuls of papers and poems and just as she was about to freak out, just as she began to believe that her conversation with Will hadn't happened, she found it again at the bottom of the box. She held it in front of herself as if it were the Holy Grail. She pushed the box from herself and backed onto the bed.
She counted the pages, seventeen from the front, seventeen for no apparent reason, and opened the book. She started reading from the top of the page.
'Every time he says he loves me, I find it harder and harder to believe.'
March 13
Jen and Connor had settled into a routine. For almost two years, they went out every Friday for a movie, then dinner. It was sacred. Friday dates were carved in stone.
A year and a half into seeing each other, Connor discovered a little clearing in the woods at the edge of town and added going there on dates. It was "their place."
It was another Friday; an assumed date took place as per unspoken agreement and the two were sitting down at an all night diner for burgers.
"Did you like the movies?" Jen asked, picking up a french fry. She tapped her lips with it until Connor responded, then chewed it.
He shook his head, swallowing the mouthful of Pepsi he'd brought to his lips moments before. "Nah. Too much French for my taste."
"But French movies are romantic."
"Oh, like that one where those two idiots buried themselves in concrete?"
"They were in love," Jen reasoned. "Besides, it was a true testament of their love for each other."
"That's a little extreme."
"You wouldn't bury yourself in cement for me?" Jen batted her pretty eyes.
Connor smiled. "Well when you ask like that..."
They ate.
Connor looked at her, watched her drink from his Pepsi. "I can be romantic," he said.
Jen rolled her eyes, then smiled playfully. "Prove it."
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe you should."
He cleared his throat. "Actually I had something special planned for tonight."
"Special for me or special for you?"
"Both." He grinned.
"What is it?"
He only smirked and shook his head, looking down to the plate in front of him. "You'll never guess."
"Come on," she said smiling. She leaned forward and pouted. "Please?"
Connor raised his eyebrows and spoke, "I'll give you a hint. You'll like it, and well, of course I'll like it. And it's something we can do together, so no more guilt trips about me leaving you out of stuff."
Jen thought. Something we can do together and something we'll both like. She blushed and frowned at him.
"I'm not doing what you think we're doing."
"What're you talking about?" Connor asked through a mouthful of masticated beef.
She leaned in and Connor did likewise. "I'm not," she looked around and whispered, "sixty-nining you. I said I didn't want to." She leaned back and watched her boyfriend swallow what he had chewed.
"You don't think I care about your feelings?" he asked, cocking his head.
"Well it's just... that one time..."
"And then you said stop so what did I do?"
"You stopped," Jen said, looking down.
"And you said you weren't comfortable with me doing that, and I understood. I understand. You don't have to act like the innocent girl ashamed to talk about this. You don't have to assume I don't listen either, because I do. You said you didn't want me to finger you again and I won't."
"Sorry, God."
"Didn't I keep my promise so far?" he asked, softening his tone.
"Yes," she said mockingly.
"Good then."
Connor finished eating. Jen picked at what was left of her burger. Embarrassment made her lose her appetite. Connor apparently didn't notice.
"You want an ice cream or something?" he asked, crumpling a napkin on his plate.
"Nah, we should get going anyway. I'm going to the bathroom. If you want something just get it to go." She slid out of the booth and touched his shoulder as she walked past. Four steps away, she turned back and called to him. He looked at her and smiled. "You have ketchup on your face," she said, then turned to the bathroom.
I really think I love him.
She looked at herself in the mirror and patted her face with a wet paper towel. She was running a fever and felt like shit but preferred to be out with Connor. She didn't want to acknowledge her sickness by cancelling. She didn't want to give in.
She breathed deeply for a second then, fixing her hair, left to go back to her seat. As she turned the corner coming out from behind the half wall separating the tables from the bathrooms, she saw a girl standing in front of the booth where Connor was. Jen stepped forward.
The girl was a waitress, someone she recognized from school who was wearing a shirt buttoned too low for her own liking. She was leaning over Connor. Not the table, not clearing anything. Just leaning over him. His face was eye level with her parading cleavage.
He was telling a joke and as she laughed, he looked down her shirt. Looking at her the way Jen thought he only looked at her, he made the international gesture for 'come here.' She leaned in. He whispered in her ear, she giggled and wrote something on the pad she'd used to take their order. She ripped the paper off, folded it and held it between two fingers over her chest. Connor reached for it, she moved it; the inevitable happened.
They laughed. The waitress threw her body back if it had all been so funny.
Sometime as she began to look back at Connor, her gaze met Jen's. For a lightening quick moment, the girl looked terrified. She dropped the paper, smiled nervously at Connor and walked into the kitchen.
Jen appeared at his side.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"What d'you mean?"
"You know why that little bimbo got her ass away from you so fast?"
"Because-"
"Because she saw me. At least someone acknowledges our being a couple." Jen grabbed her coat and left the building. She paced the sidewalk unable to decide to run as fast as she could home or wait until he cam out and scream until her throat was hoarse.
She coughed hard and loud. Catching her chest, unable to breathe, she leaned against the building as Connor burst through the doors a moment later. He ran to help her.
"Fuck off," she said out of breath.
"Jen, it's not what you think it is," he said flustered.
"Okay, you flirt with a stranger and touch her tits and get her number and it's not what it looks like?"
"First of all, I didn't touch her tits. I wasn't flirting, and she's not a stranger."
"Oh great!" Jen raised her hands and dropped them, hitting her thighs. "So you touched her tits and got her number, but it's okay because she's not a stranger."
"There's a reason, Jen. It has to do with you."
"Oh good, you did it for me then."
"Goddammit Jen, just listen!"
"No, you listen. We're through. You can go back in there and fuck her for all I care." Jen started walking away, arms crossed over her chest, teeth gritted. She got to the end of the block when Connor's crap-mobile pulled up beside her. He leaned down to see her. "You didn't let me finish."
She scoffed. "I don't want to talk to you. We're over."
"You're mad right now, just give me a chance. You didn't even let me finish."
"What then?" she asked, turning around. "What can you possibly have to say that'll make a difference?"
"It's not what I have to say. I have something for you. It was part of the surprise. He opened the door, got out and held out a small box wrapped in brown paper.
"I didn't get a chance to wrap it properly. It's the reason I was talking to that girl in there."
She swallowed hard, and looked from him to the box.
Connor offered some encouragement. "Open it. It's yours."
Jen took it. She pierced a crease with her thumbnail and pulled the brown paper off of a long velvet box. Her heart beat fast and tears started to well in her eyes. "I'm such an asshole," she said shakily.
He laughed sympathetically and hugged her. "No, no. It was an honest mistake. You're beautiful. You're wonderful."
Jen kissed him and bit her lips, opening the box. In it was a necklace.
"Oh my god," she whispered, still crying. He smiled, and in the fashion of every movie with a jewelery exchange, put it on her. A small diamond heart hung just below her collar bone, and she kissed him and she loved him.
"I told you I could be romantic."
"I love you."
Connor looked at her, saw how beautiful she looked though she was sick and crying and embarrassed. "I love you."
He opened the door for her as she got in his car.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked, looking over at her as he drove.
"Didn't you say you had a surprise?"
He sighed, contented with the evening. "Yep. I could save it for another time, though. You seem tired or sick or something."
Jen cleared her throat, having been found out. "I'm fine. I feel great."
"Always a trooper."
Except for the radio and the noise not filtered by insulation, the car was quiet.
When Connor pulled onto a rural road, Jen thought nothing of it, recognized it and having been previously lost in thought. The headlights lead them down a rocky road to a place with an earthen canvas painted with thousands of little daisy buds.
She left her room and explored the dark house. Neither member of the family could be found and, as Bryn made her way to the kitchen, found the lamp above the stove was the only light left on. Taped to the cabinet where Ellie stored her recipes she never cooked was a note.
'We went for supper.'
"Whoopee." She sighed.
Dropping the paper on the counter, Bryn retraced her steps to her room and shut the door.
"What should I do?" she asked the stale air. "Laundry?" She looked at an overflowing hamper. "Nah, better leave it for Ellie. Music? Yes."
She hit the play button on her stereo and a slow, sweet ballad came on. Bryn shrugged. "It works."
She opened the window, hitting the ledge once for good luck and stuck her head out. She closed her eyes as the cold night touched her face.
Bryn was drawn back to a memory when she and Ellie went for a drive without their mother. Their windows were down and music was pulsing through them. Driving along, Bryn had looked at her sister and realized how much alike they looked.
They were only a year and a half apart, but they were so close. Bryn wondered every time she covered for their mother's drunkenness why she kept up the charade. Why, even a few weeks ago, had Bryn tried to clean up the vodka bottle?
"I didn't want her to know," she murmured.
Bryn pulled herself back in and shut the window. She remembered the box. She rummaged through it, taking out each item (pictures, Jen's favourite book, an old ring Jen used to wear) and setting it down beside her on the floor.
"The notebook," she whispered.
Bryn pushed some things around trying to find it. She grabbed handfuls of papers and poems and just as she was about to freak out, just as she began to believe that her conversation with Will hadn't happened, she found it again at the bottom of the box. She held it in front of herself as if it were the Holy Grail. She pushed the box from herself and backed onto the bed.
She counted the pages, seventeen from the front, seventeen for no apparent reason, and opened the book. She started reading from the top of the page.
'Every time he says he loves me, I find it harder and harder to believe.'
<|><|><|>
March 13
Jen and Connor had settled into a routine. For almost two years, they went out every Friday for a movie, then dinner. It was sacred. Friday dates were carved in stone.
A year and a half into seeing each other, Connor discovered a little clearing in the woods at the edge of town and added going there on dates. It was "their place."
It was another Friday; an assumed date took place as per unspoken agreement and the two were sitting down at an all night diner for burgers.
"Did you like the movies?" Jen asked, picking up a french fry. She tapped her lips with it until Connor responded, then chewed it.
He shook his head, swallowing the mouthful of Pepsi he'd brought to his lips moments before. "Nah. Too much French for my taste."
"But French movies are romantic."
"Oh, like that one where those two idiots buried themselves in concrete?"
"They were in love," Jen reasoned. "Besides, it was a true testament of their love for each other."
"That's a little extreme."
"You wouldn't bury yourself in cement for me?" Jen batted her pretty eyes.
Connor smiled. "Well when you ask like that..."
They ate.
Connor looked at her, watched her drink from his Pepsi. "I can be romantic," he said.
Jen rolled her eyes, then smiled playfully. "Prove it."
"Maybe I will."
"Maybe you should."
He cleared his throat. "Actually I had something special planned for tonight."
"Special for me or special for you?"
"Both." He grinned.
"What is it?"
He only smirked and shook his head, looking down to the plate in front of him. "You'll never guess."
"Come on," she said smiling. She leaned forward and pouted. "Please?"
Connor raised his eyebrows and spoke, "I'll give you a hint. You'll like it, and well, of course I'll like it. And it's something we can do together, so no more guilt trips about me leaving you out of stuff."
Jen thought. Something we can do together and something we'll both like. She blushed and frowned at him.
"I'm not doing what you think we're doing."
"What're you talking about?" Connor asked through a mouthful of masticated beef.
She leaned in and Connor did likewise. "I'm not," she looked around and whispered, "sixty-nining you. I said I didn't want to." She leaned back and watched her boyfriend swallow what he had chewed.
"You don't think I care about your feelings?" he asked, cocking his head.
"Well it's just... that one time..."
"And then you said stop so what did I do?"
"You stopped," Jen said, looking down.
"And you said you weren't comfortable with me doing that, and I understood. I understand. You don't have to act like the innocent girl ashamed to talk about this. You don't have to assume I don't listen either, because I do. You said you didn't want me to finger you again and I won't."
"Sorry, God."
"Didn't I keep my promise so far?" he asked, softening his tone.
"Yes," she said mockingly.
"Good then."
Connor finished eating. Jen picked at what was left of her burger. Embarrassment made her lose her appetite. Connor apparently didn't notice.
"You want an ice cream or something?" he asked, crumpling a napkin on his plate.
"Nah, we should get going anyway. I'm going to the bathroom. If you want something just get it to go." She slid out of the booth and touched his shoulder as she walked past. Four steps away, she turned back and called to him. He looked at her and smiled. "You have ketchup on your face," she said, then turned to the bathroom.
I really think I love him.
She looked at herself in the mirror and patted her face with a wet paper towel. She was running a fever and felt like shit but preferred to be out with Connor. She didn't want to acknowledge her sickness by cancelling. She didn't want to give in.
She breathed deeply for a second then, fixing her hair, left to go back to her seat. As she turned the corner coming out from behind the half wall separating the tables from the bathrooms, she saw a girl standing in front of the booth where Connor was. Jen stepped forward.
The girl was a waitress, someone she recognized from school who was wearing a shirt buttoned too low for her own liking. She was leaning over Connor. Not the table, not clearing anything. Just leaning over him. His face was eye level with her parading cleavage.
He was telling a joke and as she laughed, he looked down her shirt. Looking at her the way Jen thought he only looked at her, he made the international gesture for 'come here.' She leaned in. He whispered in her ear, she giggled and wrote something on the pad she'd used to take their order. She ripped the paper off, folded it and held it between two fingers over her chest. Connor reached for it, she moved it; the inevitable happened.
They laughed. The waitress threw her body back if it had all been so funny.
Sometime as she began to look back at Connor, her gaze met Jen's. For a lightening quick moment, the girl looked terrified. She dropped the paper, smiled nervously at Connor and walked into the kitchen.
Jen appeared at his side.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"What d'you mean?"
"You know why that little bimbo got her ass away from you so fast?"
"Because-"
"Because she saw me. At least someone acknowledges our being a couple." Jen grabbed her coat and left the building. She paced the sidewalk unable to decide to run as fast as she could home or wait until he cam out and scream until her throat was hoarse.
She coughed hard and loud. Catching her chest, unable to breathe, she leaned against the building as Connor burst through the doors a moment later. He ran to help her.
"Fuck off," she said out of breath.
"Jen, it's not what you think it is," he said flustered.
"Okay, you flirt with a stranger and touch her tits and get her number and it's not what it looks like?"
"First of all, I didn't touch her tits. I wasn't flirting, and she's not a stranger."
"Oh great!" Jen raised her hands and dropped them, hitting her thighs. "So you touched her tits and got her number, but it's okay because she's not a stranger."
"There's a reason, Jen. It has to do with you."
"Oh good, you did it for me then."
"Goddammit Jen, just listen!"
"No, you listen. We're through. You can go back in there and fuck her for all I care." Jen started walking away, arms crossed over her chest, teeth gritted. She got to the end of the block when Connor's crap-mobile pulled up beside her. He leaned down to see her. "You didn't let me finish."
She scoffed. "I don't want to talk to you. We're over."
"You're mad right now, just give me a chance. You didn't even let me finish."
"What then?" she asked, turning around. "What can you possibly have to say that'll make a difference?"
"It's not what I have to say. I have something for you. It was part of the surprise. He opened the door, got out and held out a small box wrapped in brown paper.
"I didn't get a chance to wrap it properly. It's the reason I was talking to that girl in there."
She swallowed hard, and looked from him to the box.
Connor offered some encouragement. "Open it. It's yours."
Jen took it. She pierced a crease with her thumbnail and pulled the brown paper off of a long velvet box. Her heart beat fast and tears started to well in her eyes. "I'm such an asshole," she said shakily.
He laughed sympathetically and hugged her. "No, no. It was an honest mistake. You're beautiful. You're wonderful."
Jen kissed him and bit her lips, opening the box. In it was a necklace.
"Oh my god," she whispered, still crying. He smiled, and in the fashion of every movie with a jewelery exchange, put it on her. A small diamond heart hung just below her collar bone, and she kissed him and she loved him.
"I told you I could be romantic."
"I love you."
Connor looked at her, saw how beautiful she looked though she was sick and crying and embarrassed. "I love you."
He opened the door for her as she got in his car.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked, looking over at her as he drove.
"Didn't you say you had a surprise?"
He sighed, contented with the evening. "Yep. I could save it for another time, though. You seem tired or sick or something."
Jen cleared her throat, having been found out. "I'm fine. I feel great."
"Always a trooper."
Except for the radio and the noise not filtered by insulation, the car was quiet.
When Connor pulled onto a rural road, Jen thought nothing of it, recognized it and having been previously lost in thought. The headlights lead them down a rocky road to a place with an earthen canvas painted with thousands of little daisy buds.
<|><|><|>
Monday, February 12, 2007
Drinking Alone, and Suicide
So, I didn't do anything over the weekend. I was supposed to get drunk with KC and Susan and my sister, but it never happened. There's still a little alcohol left, but that's sad to drink alone. I should be doing my social essay, but I'd rather not. I hate social.
I took a stab to my feelings today. On Sunday, I signed up for this writer's help email to come every week for the next few weeks. I asked a question (something like "why don't you just tell the secrets to writing without making people pay for it") and, expecting an automated response, I went on with my business. A few minutes later, I got an email back that said, "When you write your novel, you wouldn't just print it and give it to people for free, would you?"
I guess they do have real people there. Anyways, I took it as the guy (I know it's a guy because the name he used was Brandon) being snippy. Maybe that's just the way I am. He didn't insult me, but here I sat, allowing myself to be snippy to others, not thinking how they would react. I do know the answer to my question, but I just wanted the information for free because I am really desperate to finish writing this damn book and get started on the other two (yes there are AT LEAST two I want to finish before I make the grand exit from my teen years - I know, I know, there's still two and a little more years, but I want them out of my head and onto paper, I don't care if I sell them or they get published; I just want to look at a completed manuscript and be proud of something I've done).
Now that that's off my mind ('cuz I knew it would bug me if I didn't vent) I can start onto better topics.
I had to walk to school today, and you might not think that's so bad considering that I live only five blocks from school. You know what? It was -20 degrees, and we're talking Celsius, baby. That's effing cold. At lunch I walked back home since none of my friends were actually at school. I walked back so I would only have to be alone for half an hour (and that was when most other kids had class) and I read. Then 110 minutes later, I walked home. I determined that KC was actually sick, and therefore forgave her for not driving me to school (as if that's something to get mad about). During Biology I made a mental list of all the things I have to buy/do this weekend.
At first I was iffy. I mean, last year I did fine when we dissected the lamb heart and lungs, and the brain is turning out to be much more interesting (not just ventricles and pumps, but instead what controls movement, senses, hormones, etc.). Two weekends ago, I guess at the beginning of February, I was watching TV and took advantage of the wide range of channels my grama has. I saw on the documentary channel a documentary called "Suicide".
Perhaps it was my history with the subject that drew me to it, or if not, I don't know, but I started watching it. There were parts that affected me more than what I'm about to write, but this was pretty strange. I saw part of an autopsy when the coroner (or whatever he's called) cut the brain out of a man. That was really kind of gross, but I sat through it. I guess I'm a little less squeamish about that kind of stuff than I used to be. But that's the reason I was thinking about not doing the dissection.
I think I'll do it. Some concrete example to what we've been learning could help me, yeah.
Yesterday I called Caitlyn. I guess it's been since she's been dating Taylor that I've had an almost tension with her. I know why, but she doesn't.
Anyways, when we were talking, she told me that she would be, for the third weekend in a row, visiting our dad's house (evidently, where Taylor lives) because our step sister, Katrina would be visiting. That too hit me. Since Kass moved with my dad (the first time) I have always felt that Katrina was the older {or in Touer's case, the younger} sister that none of my siblings ever got but always wanted. This fear, or, as I've feared, realization, was only made more paranoid by the words of my youngest sister whom I used to be really close to.
During the conversation, she thought I made fun of her, so she made the joke that I wasn't ready to date boys, or that boys didn't like me.
I hated her when she said that, but since I am almost completely incapable of showing how I feel when I feel it, I went on joking with her. She hung up on me, which pissed me off.
She had said what I had been thinking all my life, but she didn't say the reason. I had kept that close to my heart hoping that nobody knew or cared, but I knew better than my wishes. Boys don't like me because I'm too fat.
And that is definitely fixable, but unfortunately for me, I take insults badly (that's why I'm glad my siblings were never verbally vicious) and tend to do stupid things. Last night, which was the first time this year and the first time in almost five months, I took out my trusty metal box equipped with gauze, band aids, and a razor.
Needless to say, I regretted it. I steered clear of the wrist, as I have learned that that would cause suspicion among my friends, and just as a person with a self destructive habit does, I've learned how to lie; both to others and myself.
It wasn't her words that hurt me truly (though it is painful to have all the terrible horrible things you've ever thought about yourself acknowledged by another person), but it was the fact that she made me feel like shit. Only a select few people have made me feel like that, to drive me to (what would seem like extremes) my way of coping (though I have been doing well), and each person I have hated for a long period of time. I'll forget what she said eventually, and act like nothing happened, or I'll forget and not forgive for a little while. But I know I can never tell her the reason, for a couple reasons.
I never told her about the note, though I did tell her about the attempt. I told Laura too, but surprisingly, neither of them seemed really phased.
One day, I'll pull a Touer and write a semi-autobiographical story about it. I know it'll just come out sounding melodramatic, but maybe then I can have some peace. :)
I took a stab to my feelings today. On Sunday, I signed up for this writer's help email to come every week for the next few weeks. I asked a question (something like "why don't you just tell the secrets to writing without making people pay for it") and, expecting an automated response, I went on with my business. A few minutes later, I got an email back that said, "When you write your novel, you wouldn't just print it and give it to people for free, would you?"
I guess they do have real people there. Anyways, I took it as the guy (I know it's a guy because the name he used was Brandon) being snippy. Maybe that's just the way I am. He didn't insult me, but here I sat, allowing myself to be snippy to others, not thinking how they would react. I do know the answer to my question, but I just wanted the information for free because I am really desperate to finish writing this damn book and get started on the other two (yes there are AT LEAST two I want to finish before I make the grand exit from my teen years - I know, I know, there's still two and a little more years, but I want them out of my head and onto paper, I don't care if I sell them or they get published; I just want to look at a completed manuscript and be proud of something I've done).
Now that that's off my mind ('cuz I knew it would bug me if I didn't vent) I can start onto better topics.
I had to walk to school today, and you might not think that's so bad considering that I live only five blocks from school. You know what? It was -20 degrees, and we're talking Celsius, baby. That's effing cold. At lunch I walked back home since none of my friends were actually at school. I walked back so I would only have to be alone for half an hour (and that was when most other kids had class) and I read. Then 110 minutes later, I walked home. I determined that KC was actually sick, and therefore forgave her for not driving me to school (as if that's something to get mad about). During Biology I made a mental list of all the things I have to buy/do this weekend.
- Buy Hair dye (bleach, black, and purple)
- Dye hair
- Buy foundation that actually matches my skin tone (what was I thinking letting Celeste help my find foundation?)
- Maybe buy mascara - that's right, I'm a seventeen year old girl that doesn't wear mascara.
- Buy batteries.
- etc.
At first I was iffy. I mean, last year I did fine when we dissected the lamb heart and lungs, and the brain is turning out to be much more interesting (not just ventricles and pumps, but instead what controls movement, senses, hormones, etc.). Two weekends ago, I guess at the beginning of February, I was watching TV and took advantage of the wide range of channels my grama has. I saw on the documentary channel a documentary called "Suicide".
Perhaps it was my history with the subject that drew me to it, or if not, I don't know, but I started watching it. There were parts that affected me more than what I'm about to write, but this was pretty strange. I saw part of an autopsy when the coroner (or whatever he's called) cut the brain out of a man. That was really kind of gross, but I sat through it. I guess I'm a little less squeamish about that kind of stuff than I used to be. But that's the reason I was thinking about not doing the dissection.
I think I'll do it. Some concrete example to what we've been learning could help me, yeah.
Yesterday I called Caitlyn. I guess it's been since she's been dating Taylor that I've had an almost tension with her. I know why, but she doesn't.
Anyways, when we were talking, she told me that she would be, for the third weekend in a row, visiting our dad's house (evidently, where Taylor lives) because our step sister, Katrina would be visiting. That too hit me. Since Kass moved with my dad (the first time) I have always felt that Katrina was the older {or in Touer's case, the younger} sister that none of my siblings ever got but always wanted. This fear, or, as I've feared, realization, was only made more paranoid by the words of my youngest sister whom I used to be really close to.
During the conversation, she thought I made fun of her, so she made the joke that I wasn't ready to date boys, or that boys didn't like me.
I hated her when she said that, but since I am almost completely incapable of showing how I feel when I feel it, I went on joking with her. She hung up on me, which pissed me off.
She had said what I had been thinking all my life, but she didn't say the reason. I had kept that close to my heart hoping that nobody knew or cared, but I knew better than my wishes. Boys don't like me because I'm too fat.
And that is definitely fixable, but unfortunately for me, I take insults badly (that's why I'm glad my siblings were never verbally vicious) and tend to do stupid things. Last night, which was the first time this year and the first time in almost five months, I took out my trusty metal box equipped with gauze, band aids, and a razor.
Needless to say, I regretted it. I steered clear of the wrist, as I have learned that that would cause suspicion among my friends, and just as a person with a self destructive habit does, I've learned how to lie; both to others and myself.
It wasn't her words that hurt me truly (though it is painful to have all the terrible horrible things you've ever thought about yourself acknowledged by another person), but it was the fact that she made me feel like shit. Only a select few people have made me feel like that, to drive me to (what would seem like extremes) my way of coping (though I have been doing well), and each person I have hated for a long period of time. I'll forget what she said eventually, and act like nothing happened, or I'll forget and not forgive for a little while. But I know I can never tell her the reason, for a couple reasons.
- She wouldn't understand. Yes I know it's cliche, but it's true. The only person in my family that I would talk to about that is Laura, and she's going through a whole bunch of shit or something, because I still see scars, and not the faded purplish ones, the fresh pink kind. I don't want her to go through what I did, but I know she is. I can't do anything because I know that when I was going through that, I didn't want anyone to acknowledge that I was even doing it.
- I haven't forgiven her for stealing pages of my diary in which I said I had a relapse with cutting. That happened only two years ago. She hurt me because she didn't let me have my peace and not talk about it. I was ashamed, and the only reason I can type all this is because I can't see your face.
- When I wrote my suicide note, I addressed it to her. Not my brothers or Laura, but Caitlyn. I thought we were close, obviously close enough for me to write a letter pleading that I was sorry and I loved her, but maybe my insecurities are just taking over now.
I never told her about the note, though I did tell her about the attempt. I told Laura too, but surprisingly, neither of them seemed really phased.
One day, I'll pull a Touer and write a semi-autobiographical story about it. I know it'll just come out sounding melodramatic, but maybe then I can have some peace. :)
Thursday, February 8, 2007
I'm Back Baby!
Hooray!
After so long without a computer, my uncle has managed to fix what was wrong and now I can go on the computer. I'm no longer cut off from the world. Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking, "When will she post the next chapter of Just Flowers?"
Oh stop, you're all so kind.
I think in this coming four day weekend (when/if my sister isn't on the computer) I'll be writing and posting the next chapter. Honestly, I thought I wasn't going to be able to finish the book because the computer wasn't working, and now it is and I am happy.
So huzzah to that.
In a matter of moments, I am going to Edmonton with my friends. It is a secret because although I told my grama I would be hanging out with my friends, I didn't say where. KC didn't tell her dad either and she's the one driving. Secret trips are more fun than allowed ones. I hope the weather is good!
After so long without a computer, my uncle has managed to fix what was wrong and now I can go on the computer. I'm no longer cut off from the world. Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking, "When will she post the next chapter of Just Flowers?"
Oh stop, you're all so kind.
I think in this coming four day weekend (when/if my sister isn't on the computer) I'll be writing and posting the next chapter. Honestly, I thought I wasn't going to be able to finish the book because the computer wasn't working, and now it is and I am happy.
So huzzah to that.
In a matter of moments, I am going to Edmonton with my friends. It is a secret because although I told my grama I would be hanging out with my friends, I didn't say where. KC didn't tell her dad either and she's the one driving. Secret trips are more fun than allowed ones. I hope the weather is good!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
A Good Day
Today was a good day.
My math final exam went pretty well - there were only three questions on the test that I didn't remember how to do and there were probably thirty questions total - and I spent all morning writing it. I finished watching Simon Birch in religion and we are being interviewed by Mr. Kobelsky tomorrow with questions he gave us today to ponder.
I am excited that the first semester of my last year of high school is almost over (in eight days, I will officially be done; there are only three more diplomas, two of which I write on the same day back to back, and one final left).
In Sherwood Park, I apparently got a letter from Lakeland College, which I originally assumed to be a letter of acceptance though I had only applied a week and a half ago. It turned out to be a receipt for the cheque my mother had paid for my application with. Oh well. Hopefully soon I will know. It's the waiting that's killing me.
My math final exam went pretty well - there were only three questions on the test that I didn't remember how to do and there were probably thirty questions total - and I spent all morning writing it. I finished watching Simon Birch in religion and we are being interviewed by Mr. Kobelsky tomorrow with questions he gave us today to ponder.
I am excited that the first semester of my last year of high school is almost over (in eight days, I will officially be done; there are only three more diplomas, two of which I write on the same day back to back, and one final left).
In Sherwood Park, I apparently got a letter from Lakeland College, which I originally assumed to be a letter of acceptance though I had only applied a week and a half ago. It turned out to be a receipt for the cheque my mother had paid for my application with. Oh well. Hopefully soon I will know. It's the waiting that's killing me.
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