Category: This day in…

Flashbacks to old journal entries with modern commentary, because torture

August 11, 1992

July 17, 2017

I really should clean up my room. I should dust and vacuum and organise. But I can’t get motivated to do it. Maybe when school starts.

                                    Yeah, ’cause I certainly would have felt more motivated once under the oppressive and stressful burden of high school. *eye roll*

Writing in this diary makes me sad. It makes me think too much. I don’t want to wonder, I just want to dream.

                                    So what else is new?

Crystal went skydiving Sunday. I really want to skydive. I always wanted to. Until now it wasn’t attainable, but Crystal’s boyfriend does it a lot and took her and if mom would let me he could take me too. I really wish she would let me go (and give me the money). If only she knew how much it means to me. It would be a dream come true. A reason go on living. Why is life so expensive?

                                   Wow, settle down. It’s skydiving, not winning a Pulitzer. 25 years later and I still haven’t gone skydiving but that’s because I’ve gotten over this “dream”. I’ve always really liked heights and the idea of flying which is where the skydiving obsession came from. I got over it after I went on a hot-air balloon ride, which was another of my sky dreams, and it was such an immense letdown that it squashed any other sky related dreams I had. Some things are better left in our imaginations. Also hilarious that obsessed as I was I wasn’t willing to pay for it myself. *eye roll*

There are a lot of things I want to write in here but I can’t. I don’t know how to transform these shot-thoughts into words. I can’t write that fast, or well.

Peace and long life, Live long and prosper. Yager out.

                                   I even drew a hand doing the Vulcan salute. Perhaps this is when my interest in Vulcans began. I spent most of my life idolizing this fictional race and trying to suppress my emotions, and it’s only recently that I’ve realized how much harm this willful suppression has caused me over the years.

P.S. I like tutoring Kelly. I want to be a teacher (if I can’t be an artist…)

                                Thank god I never pursued that idea. I would have been a terrible teacher. Being forced to train various people at various tasks in work settings has taught me that I’m absolute shit at imparting knowledge to others. I get needlessly frustrated when people don’t easily catch on to what I’m getting at. A flaw I get from my father I suspect. “I learned it by watching you!!!”  

drug-dad

June 28, 1992

July 3, 2017

Italy: 12:38 a.m.
Montreal: 6:38 p.m.

Yes, vacation has started. We went through France, Paris, lovely as always. Italy is totally expensive and I feel totally ripped off everywhere we go. I think I should make this vacation into a movie one day because it is hilarious.

                                   Yeah, so hilarious that I didn’t think to provide any examples.

Anyway, I have been dreaming up a gillion ways of me meeting S.P.F. here in Europe, but I guess not, eh?

                                  Ugh, I’m so bored of this celebrity obsession. I can’t wait for 16-year-old me to get over it.

I have found three additions to my mental list of top 10 weirdest showers… This is one hell of a grimy hotel room. I think this bed is going to collapse soon. A trillion kajillion guys stare at Crystal (my sister, who must have been 18 at the time) all the time in all these countries. Some Italian guys tried to talk to her. One French guy asked her out. Some guy wanted to kiss her. One guy serenaded her in the street with his guitar. It’s weird (because she’s older than me) but when I am with her and those guys look at her and try to kiss her I feel like I should protect her. I always check to see if guys are ogling her. And I give them dirty looks. It must be flattering, but scary to be thought of as a sex object like that. well, luckily I’ll never have that problem (or unluckily?) Well, I must sleep now, bye.

                                   It’s remarkable how casually catcalling was taken in those days, and how little my parents seemed to care that their daughter was constantly being harassed, and how little the cat-callers cared that the teenager they were harassing was clearly with her parents!

July 11, 1992

We came home from vacation yesterday. I am having lots of weird feelings. Things I don’t want to write about because I don’t know how to express them on paper. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep and love S.P.F.

                                   And then I just go on and on about my celebrity crush and don’t mention a thing about all these “weird feelings”, nor do I recount any stories from our family vacation. What a lame journalist I was!

June 12, 1992

June 19, 2017

I am sad, sad, sad, in the depths of despair.

                                Maybe I’d just reread Anne of Green Gables or something…

It was storming earlier, I wish it would start again. I love lying in my bed with thunder shaking my heart and lightning lighting up my room and my flame.

                              My flame?!?!?

I get so excited at midnight tempêtes (French word for storm). They are the best way to get excited in real life. But the storm was mild and now is gone and I am sad. I have a bunch of new S.P.F. fantasies… SIGH. Every time I read I get wrapped up in my dreams and have to reread and reread the passages.

                               I still have that problem. I mean, not the celebrity crush fantasies, but difficulty concentrating while I read.

I have a headache and there is nothing like real life and I hate it. I don’t hate myself anymore. Now I hate people (except for S.P.F.) My pen is running out and so is my time.

                                  Oh geez. Was I trying to be poetic?

When will I be famous?

                                   Ahh yes, the eternal question. *eye roll*

That, along with meeting S.P.F. is my unattainable goal. 

                              Well, at least I knew these goals were unattainable.

I want to die an old maid.

                            Yeah, I must have been reading Anne of Green Gables.

Literally I don’t ever want my virginity to be robbed from me. Although I must admit I would give it to S.P.F. if he wanted it and he wore protection.

                             LOL! I was cringing and then I saved it with some good old ’90s sex ed.

I will save myself for him. So I guess I will die a young maid.

                           All I need now is a fainting couch.

I have changed in a year. I used to want a boyfriend, now I don’t. Unless of course it was S.P.F.

                           Yes, of course.

All the other guys I’ve liked I didn’t like the way I was feeling about them. But I like this feeling of devotion to S.P.F. He is different than all the others. It’s odd. Another thing that’s odd is that I’m writing so much in here lately. And when I start I can’t stop and I keep rereading it.

Purple moons and dancing shadows and bleeding tears and scary clouds and all those things.

                            I just… I mean… at least I never said things like that out loud.

If when I reread this, it doesn’t make sense, that’s ok, it doesn’t make sense now. PEOPLE ALPHABET. My next step, really… Don’t dig too deep.

                         Ok…

crying-eye

                      Seems legit