November 28, 1991

Thursday – Only a few more days until December and then almost a month until X-mas. I cannot wait! Even though we are going to Toronto this X-mas.

                               The most interesting thing about this entry is how neat my handwriting is. I don’t know what got into me. I guess I was trying something new. It certainly didn’t last. 

A lot has happened since I last wrote, so bear with me here. I got over J. Priestley a long time ago.

                              What a relief!

I liked Leonardo (I don’t know his last name) who plays Luke on Growing Pains. I don’t know… now it’s no one.

                              Lol. Remember when Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains? I’m glad my crush on him lasted only two weeks, and was well over by the time he became a bloated mess of a human manatee. 

I didn’t win that art contest. I saw the competition and I say the judges are on drugs. So the painting is in the basement.

                             I still can’t figure out which painting I submitted. No doubt it was garbage.

Jacques was here for a while. Now he’s in Edmonton, he’ll be back.

                            If that “he’ll be back” sounds ominous, it’s intentional. My sister and I were born in France and Jacques was our babysitter when we were babies. I was two when we moved back to Canada so I have no memories of him as a babysitter but several memories of him visiting us in Montreal. My siblings and I all passionately hated him, and I’m not entirely sure why. I mean, he was deeply annoying, but I can’t really pinpoint any particular behavior deserving of the extreme ire we felt towards him. He still creeps me out (though I haven’t seen him in decades) and I still don’t fully understand why. Sometimes I worry that he did something to us as babies that traumatized us and we can’t remember it but remember the feeling of fear.

I auditioned for the school play but I didn’t make it. The drama dude, Mr. Whittmore said I had a good delivery and that I made a strong impression on him but I didn’t even make it. Not even as a pictorial. I’m trying not to be depressed. My English teacher sent in a short story I wrote (Suspense, Don’t Bite Off More Than You Can Chew) to Fledglings (a collection of writings and stuff).

                          I remember that story. I was quite proud of it. The twist at the end is that the narrator is dead. Some kids in my class didn’t get it, but thankfully my teacher did. 

M&R is the best. We did hot seat, it was amazing. I was second to go. It’s weird because the person who went first said the number (for the next person) and she said 13. I knew right away it would be me, and it was. I loved it! My Art teacher gave me a pamphlet for the Canada Day poster challenge… I lost my agenda. It had such cool decorations. SIGH. Bye.

                          I remember that poster contest. My submission was garbage but I was still rather disappointed, perhaps even surprised, when I lost. In spite of my low self-esteem I was remarkably arrogant about my artistic abilities at that age. Thankfully that overconfidence fizzled away by the time I got to University and met people with actual talent. I also discovered that artists were insufferably pretentious prats (maybe I saw something in them I didn’t like in myself) and chose to go in a different direction. I guess this blog is evidence that I am returning to the ways of insufferable navel-gazing, but now I have a more realistic perception of my own art. Progress!

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