Category: Writing

November 30, 1992

September 11, 2017

I’m totally bored. I hate school. I hate people. I don’t hate TV. I don’t hate movies. I don’t hate drawing. I hate going to school and being at school and being on the bus and the people on the bus and the people at school. I hate Mr. Whitmore, I hate Jane, I hate everyone but my mother and brother, and Beau Gars. (my celebrity crush). I hate school. I hate all my classes. Sometimes I hate myself, not now. I  really hate Mr. Whitmore, I seriously wish he would die. I wish I could kill him. I wish I were Q. I WISH I WERE Q. I hate my life. I am so full of hate and have no way to release it. How can I release it? Maybe I’ll make a voodoo doll of Whitmore. Yeah! I wish I were Q.

                                  Yeah, so that pretty much covers that. Kind of interesting that I never hated my mother, eh? Way to eschew teenaged girl stereotypes. 

                              Mr. Whitmore was my English teacher. At one point he called on me, to comment on something in a book the class was reading, and I took my time formulating my answer, apparently too long, because he got pissed and yelled at me, and the entire class, that we must answer questions, and not simply sit there in silence. I was utterly humiliated, and that moment has remained seared in my brain as one of the most embarrassing in all of high school. I don’t remember the timelines, so I don’t know if this happened before or after, but another time, he asked me to comment on another book, and I quite honestly replied that the book had made me realize that I’d never been happy. Even though I knew this was an embarrassing thing to say, I said it anyway because I knew it would shock him, and shut him up. Even though I was indeed embarrassed, I got the desired effect, because he stammered in response, hesitantly asking the rest of the class if anyone had a similar reaction. No one responded, because of course they didn’t, but to this day I retain that as a moment of triumph over an asshole of an authority figure. In retrospect though, he wasn’t that bad. I actually had a bit of a love/hate relationship with Mr. Whitmore. I also had him for Drama, and I was basically teacher’s pet in that class. He once said, to the whole class, that I was the only student who ever understood what he was talking about. So that was nice.

                         When I say I wish I were Q, I’m of course talking about the Star Trek character, not the Bond character. I no longer wish I were omnipotent, ’cause that’d be boring, but I still love Star Trek. I’m recapping TNG these days, so head on over and check it out.

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November 10, 1992

September 4, 2017

Tuesday:
2:30 – 3:00 – take shower, blah, blah, blah
3:00 – 4:00 – watch Joan Rivers show
4:00 – 5:00 – watch taped next Generation episode
5:00 – find paper with group story I started writing; wait for inspiration
6:00 – 7:00 – have supper, tell mom about homework, get help with it
7:00 – 9:30 – watch TV
9:30 – do homework, go to bed
Research Winona Ryder
note: put gym stuff in bag
put chocolate bar in fridge, eat it while watching TV
be depressed…

                                                  I wrote all that while at school and stuck the loose leaf into my diary when I got home. It’s interesting to see that my obsession with planning my life and tracking my time began early. I recently wrote a blog post about my tracking obsession, which I believed was a new passion but I guess I’ve always been this way. I’m rather amused to see that watching the Joan Rivers show was such a priority, and I have no idea why I felt the need to research Winona Ryder, nor how I intended to do so before the advent of the internet. I also got a good chuckle out of the last line: “be depressed”. Even then I had a sense of humour about my melancholy proclivities. 

                                             And then I go on and on about my “love” for my celebrity crush. Hilariously though, I conclude with this:

If, when I’m older, I read this and it seems stupid and like a dumb crush (supposing I’m over him), I’m sorry but I really do love him. If I still love him, please excuse my saving anything so realistic.

                                         So amused by my teenaged “love”, and yet surprising self-awareness about how ridiculous it was.

God I’m depressed. If I can’t have what I really want (job wise) like in my fantasies then I want to illustrate books, and write them eventually. I would really like to write Ranmadia. Please, Nic, write it over the summer, it must be done before we forget the story.

                                        Oh, this is sad. I don’t know what I was referring to with the job that I really wanted, but even my backup plan of illustrating and writing books did not come to pass. And no, I never did write Ranmadia. It was a story my brother and I had come up with together. He narrated the story, and I responded with what the protagonist did. My brother was already GMing table-top role-playing games with his friends by this point so that’s basically what this story was, an RPG without the dice. I felt like it was such a good story, and I was so desperate to get it down on paper, and yet I never did. And now I don’t remember it at all.

Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh
To do over long weekend:
Watch Beauty and the Beast
Watch taped episodes of Young Indy
Do all homework (yeah right) no really
Paint Ranmadia thing
Draw those pictures from magazines
I hate my life and self

                                     Geez, kid, you’re such a downer!

abyss

September 25, 1992

August 28, 2017

I hate school! I thought it would be a great year, what a joke. It doesn’t matter what courses I’m taking I’m still me.

                                      The eternal problem.

And the fact that I feel nauseous every day doesn’t help. I think I’m seriously sick… let’s not speak of such unpleasantries. Excuse me while I go cry and fantasize my way to sleep.

                                    I’m not sure what this nausea was about, unless it was menstrual. Before I started taking birth control pills I got my period about every three weeks and it was brutal. I’ve been known to throw up in public places more than once because of this problem. The nausea could have also been anxiety though. When I was a child I had chronic stomach aches and when I complained about it to my mother she brought me to a doctor who told me there was nothing wrong. That was one of the first times I learned not to trust/listen to doctors (that deserves a rant of its own which I’ll save for another day). In any case, it was only thirty years later that the medical community finally acknowledged the connection between stomach pain and anxiety, especially in children. When I read a few of the articles referring to these studies the lightbulb clicked and I realized this was what I’d been suffering from my entire childhood.

October 11, 1992

Since Michelle (my sister’s friend) came over for Thanksgiving supper she had us say all the stuff we were thankful for. All I said was that I was thankful Star Trek TNG plays everyday and has a new season and that the Young Indianna Jones Chronicles plays. Pretty sad, eh?

                                    Yeah, sad. Fictional characters were, at that time, my only friends. Today I’m happy to report that I also have one or two IRL friends, so… progress!

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