Category: This day in…

Flashbacks to old journal entries with modern commentary, because torture

April 17, 1992

April 24, 2017

Boy, I haven’t written in this thing for a long time. I mean it’s 1992!

                                               And thank goodness it isn’t 1992 anymore.

Well, lots has happened of course but I’ve decided that… from now on I’m only going to write my dreams and feelings in here and forget about things that happen (unless it’s really relevant and important). I just read everything I wrote in here and it brought back a lot more bad memories than good ones.

                                              Yeah, I get that.

God, was I ever obsessed with having a boyfriend! In it somewhere I said I thought maybe I loved Jason Priestly. Give me a break, I never loved him! Then I “loved” Taffy, how pathetic. Well I am not obsessed with Taffy anymore although I still like him just in a friend way.

                                           Remember, we’re talking about my teacher here.

I am attracted to him but let’s not be so unrealistic. I have come to see that I always like guys that could never possibly like me, or rather guys that I could never have a relationship with. Like celebrities, Taffy, Tim (a guy in my art class), and most recently Sean Patrick Flanery (from Young Indy). They are all impossible relationships. I never like guys that could really be.

                                           Wait, why am I equating Tim from art class with celebrities? How exactly was some kid I went to school with on the same level as a famous actor? 

The most possible is that guy in my art class, but he’s the one I like the least. He started by always sitting next to me in class and talking to me so I thought he liked me but I never responded so I guess he lost interest.

                                            Yeah, typical me. I only realize people are into me in retrospect. By the time I catch on, they’ve moved on.

But I think I didn’t respond because I am afraid of having a relationship. The closest thing I ever had to potential for a boyfriend was that whole thing from Jane’s boyfriend blind group date thing.

                                              I’m talking about a blind date I went on where I was set up with my friend’s boyfriend’s friend about a year prior. Very interesting that I don’t go into more detail about that night, and subsequent hang-outs with the same squad, which were pure agony of social anxiety hell. I still remember it vividly though. We went to see Tremors, and then we walked around holding hands because my date and I felt like we were supposed to, even though neither one of us had any interest in the other. I recall my friend Jane telling me she set me up with this particular guy because we were both blonde, and therefore sure to get along. Makes sense. All blondes share a hive-mind after all.

But I didn’t respond. I want relationships only in my fantasies. Anything too real and I get scared. 

                                              Holy shit, remarkable insight for little 15-year-0ld me. 

Which is really too bad because I really need some love. I need arms to hold me when I cry… 

                                            Hilarious that I start this entry by shaming myself for being obsessed with wanting a boyfriend, and then proceed to talk about how much I want a boyfriend.

I want somebody to love, and love me. Namely Sean P.F. He is my latest desire. He fills the face of my fantasy men. I wish I could meet him. I hope he has a good personality…I think he’s great, even if he is American.

                                          Lol! Way to end on a xenophobic note there, young me. 

November 29, 1991

April 10, 2017

Friday. The dream I had last night was so weird… 

                                              I wrote out a long dream, but it’s not that interesting so I’ll spare you. The take home is that it was an anxiety dream of sorts, and perhaps one of my first instances of semi-lucid dreaming. The same scene kept happening over and over – an old lady trying to kill my mother and I – and I kept replaying it, each time more successful until finally I managed to get her to the police and escape. It was also one of the first times I dreamed in French. What’s more interesting than the dream itself was my penmanship as I was writing it down. My handwriting gets increasingly sloppy to the point where I had trouble reading it. It seems I felt it was very important to transcribe the dream, so I guess it had a big effect on me.

Friday, December 20, 1991

X-mas vacation began today. I have lots to say. That rhymes! (Taffy stuff, candy gram, crush development…)

                                        Oh god, here we go.

Did I ever talk about Taffy before? Well that’s Robert Taffendon my homeroom, History & EMR teacher. He is wonderful! First the candy gram story. It all began with me first comeing to the school. He always tells stories and he sometimes mentions his wife. Jane and I always pictured his wife as a blonde bombshell (I guess because he is a blonde babe). Every day at school we would see Mr. Taffendon with this other teacher (Mrs. Laventholl or something) so we were like, hmmm, he is always with that lady, she must be his mistress. Well one day in one of his stories he revealed that she was his wife. Jane and I thought this was hilarious (although we were disappointed). So every time Taffendon would pass by our table at lunch we would crack up. We dubbed him Taffy and her Missy, by the way. Before x-mas they were doing the candy gram thing. So we sent one to Taffy explaining why we always laugh at him. He thought it was hilarious and he loved it. Now I would like to think that I have this special, unique, student-teacher bond with him.

                                      Cringing. Nice of him to play along and pretend something so inane was funny though.

I really like Taffy. At first I had fantasies about him so I thought it was a crush. I guess it still is somewhat. I have the utmost admiration for that man. I always feel happy when I’m around him and I miss him already. I thought of going to school today just to see him but then decided not to get up early if I didn’t have to. He is going to Florida for x-mas (I think he’s Jewish). Jane is going too! I hope she gets some pictures of him so I can have some and put one in that thing I am making him for the end of the year. (a 1991-1992 memorabilia of Taffy.). Earlier in this diary I wrote that I wanted the perfect guy. Well, I have found what I think is the closest thing to it, but he can’t be my boyfriend because he is at least 24 years older than me, he is my teacher, he is married and has a child. It truly makes me sad to think I can never have him for my own. Maybe I do love him. I guess I’ll never know!

                                     Part of me thinks this is hilarious and part of me is crippled with embarrassment. I do distinctly remember Taffy but not what he looked like. I just googled him in an effort to remember but there are no pictures readily available. I did find him on ratemyteachers.com and found that he was still teaching at BHS up until a few years ago and kids still love him. He really was a great teacher, and I guess the novelty of such a thing fueled my infatuation. By then he was probably used to kids crushing on him and was completely unfazed. One of my clearest memories of him is a time I was the first one to come to class. I sat at my desk and he asked me how I was. I replied that I was fine. He said that I didn’t have to lie, that I didn’t have to say the expected pleasantly and could answer honestly if I wasn’t really fine. I guess he could tell that I was an unhappy kid. I don’t remember what I replied but that interaction always stuck with me. I really appreciated an authority figure giving me permission, if you will, to be authentic.

 

 

November 28, 1991

March 27, 2017

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!