Shitty day.
Sep. 30th, 2005 02:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageStarted out so nicely.
Chem test was easy; I caught my mistakes.
He wore blue.
Inexorably happy at 8:34.
Janoff hates me.
Paha.
Ok so BC test blah, I have the second lowest grade, which is ironically an 84 to my 85.
Damn gifted bunnies (business.)
The desk left a crowbar. This could be dangerous.
MCracken I drew stuff. It's on pvspeech.
Then it goes radically downhill.
I visit Myers to practice the four-step method.
She tells me I might have to go to BC.
I need a study buddy to learn.
What kind of person am I?
The kind that doesn't have friends, okay?
I didn't know anyone well.
I was afraid to infringe upon them.
But now I'm moved next to Alana.
God I hope I don't get kicked out.
Death is not funny? To me it is.
Cried as I left. My eyes were wet. I turned right to avoid my mom, and who do I run into?
My mom.
I told her I was stabbed and that I hate talking?
So I'm mildly pissed in the courtyard; Keaton and his superior boobs walked by.
I go to art, sit in the corner, and cry. Tears on my jeans leg. Paper towels. Pressure points.
I say it's a headache, I don't usually get them so it's weird.
Lauer says too much stress.
I'm thinking, thinking is toxic. Why do people tolerate me? etc.
I was shaking.
With failure.
A B.
Life.
So I'm sufficiently less snivelly for programming.
Percival has a starmap like a rubber yamulke.
Uh... I was quieter at Progressives.
Brian and I stopped at two gas stations, and bought two slurpees, one soda, two bags of sun chips, a jerky stick, and NO GAS. We'd bought gas early morning.
I hate artificial sweeteners.
Dad killed a raccoon, I think it was the mom. Climbing the screen. Hit her with a pitchfork repeatedly. It refused to die for a while. Spun and spurted blood. It was cleaned up by the time I was done in the bathroom. My dad said it was traumatizing. I can imagine so.
Dance, LaMichael Ballet. Jodi Jazz. General sentiments of incompetence and sloth. I stopped breathing. Being dizzy almost to the verge of passing out was comfortingly heavy. What if I just stopped?
Then I could be a Jainist.
So I cried there, gasping.
Do not use the water fountain. We did.
Again in my car, like a smoking teacher, not the kind with the joints in the 70s. The horn kept beeping as my head pressed into it. I was shaking, almost hugging the wheel as I grasped it. Rolling tears. Loneliness. Desperation. The sound of breathing.
WHY?
The hyperactive child is self-loathing.
We all need a psychologist.
Tried to hide it.
Screamed as I entered the house. Caesar bust from Mary Lou, I do not trust it. Looked like an albino midget intruder. A child.
That dressmaker's dummy was pretty.
Family ran, I collapsed in laughter.
PVSpeech lurking. No real devoirs.
I hope Friday does equal love.
Chem test was easy; I caught my mistakes.
He wore blue.
Inexorably happy at 8:34.
Janoff hates me.
Paha.
Ok so BC test blah, I have the second lowest grade, which is ironically an 84 to my 85.
Damn gifted bunnies (business.)
The desk left a crowbar. This could be dangerous.
MCracken I drew stuff. It's on pvspeech.
Then it goes radically downhill.
I visit Myers to practice the four-step method.
She tells me I might have to go to BC.
I need a study buddy to learn.
What kind of person am I?
The kind that doesn't have friends, okay?
I didn't know anyone well.
I was afraid to infringe upon them.
But now I'm moved next to Alana.
God I hope I don't get kicked out.
Death is not funny? To me it is.
Cried as I left. My eyes were wet. I turned right to avoid my mom, and who do I run into?
My mom.
I told her I was stabbed and that I hate talking?
So I'm mildly pissed in the courtyard; Keaton and his superior boobs walked by.
I go to art, sit in the corner, and cry. Tears on my jeans leg. Paper towels. Pressure points.
I say it's a headache, I don't usually get them so it's weird.
Lauer says too much stress.
I'm thinking, thinking is toxic. Why do people tolerate me? etc.
I was shaking.
With failure.
A B.
Life.
So I'm sufficiently less snivelly for programming.
Percival has a starmap like a rubber yamulke.
Uh... I was quieter at Progressives.
Brian and I stopped at two gas stations, and bought two slurpees, one soda, two bags of sun chips, a jerky stick, and NO GAS. We'd bought gas early morning.
I hate artificial sweeteners.
Dad killed a raccoon, I think it was the mom. Climbing the screen. Hit her with a pitchfork repeatedly. It refused to die for a while. Spun and spurted blood. It was cleaned up by the time I was done in the bathroom. My dad said it was traumatizing. I can imagine so.
Dance, LaMichael Ballet. Jodi Jazz. General sentiments of incompetence and sloth. I stopped breathing. Being dizzy almost to the verge of passing out was comfortingly heavy. What if I just stopped?
Then I could be a Jainist.
So I cried there, gasping.
Do not use the water fountain. We did.
Again in my car, like a smoking teacher, not the kind with the joints in the 70s. The horn kept beeping as my head pressed into it. I was shaking, almost hugging the wheel as I grasped it. Rolling tears. Loneliness. Desperation. The sound of breathing.
WHY?
The hyperactive child is self-loathing.
We all need a psychologist.
Tried to hide it.
Screamed as I entered the house. Caesar bust from Mary Lou, I do not trust it. Looked like an albino midget intruder. A child.
That dressmaker's dummy was pretty.
Family ran, I collapsed in laughter.
PVSpeech lurking. No real devoirs.
I hope Friday does equal love.
