July 12, 1991

Well, babysitting was just howdy doody. I went to Fairview with mom and Keith earlier and I got a new school bag; it’s one of those things you wear on your back – a back pack and it’s plastic but from a far looks like leather, it has a map on it. I can’t ’till PEI.

                                               Why did I feel the need to explain what a back pack is? Who did I think I was explaining this to?

While at Fairview Keith and I got a bad case of “spontaneous combustion”, you know, the giggles. It was hilarious.

Nothing.

                                                I circled “nothing”, like it was very significant that my life was an empty shell of meaninglessness.

I hope to paint tomorrow.

Bye.

P.S. Keith and I went to the depanneur and I am eating my runts. 

P.P.S. It’s like 3:20 a.m. and I just finished watching a movie where people are in this huge scavenger hunt. It would be so fun to be in such a hunt. I’ve never done anything like that and I’d like to! I would be on a team with Taylor! By the way his last name could also be Morgan and his first could also by Tyler. Anyway, bye.

                                               It’s interesting that I’m transcribing this entry literally two days after participating in a scavenger hunt of sorts. It was a photo relay for work which was meant to serve as a team building activity. The only problem is that it was about -20 degrees Celsius out, so a lot of people bowed out. Leading up to this hunt, I’d wondered how I would behave during it. A few weeks previously, I’d found myself in an escape room at a friend’s birthday party and I did not enjoy the experience at all. I just couldn’t suspend my disbelief or take it seriously. I knew, going in, that I’d be pretty chill about the whole thing because I have trouble committing to low-stakes situations. With no tangible prize on the line I just didn’t see the point. So for the work mandatory photo relay I worried that I’d again half-ass it, but the opposite turned out to be true. It seems that I view anything work related as high-stakes. My team started out strong, and early on I made a significant contribution which turned out to be part of the answer we needed. Once outside my team fell apart in the cold weather so I took it upon myself to finish the relay alone, where another clue came together in my mind and I figured out the answer to our team’s quizz (or rather confirmed the answer two other team members had suggested). Once back at our home base I took the lead in presenting our team’s findings. I was pretty proud of myself for stepping up in this way considering my poor showing at the escape room.

                                         This all relates to some recent soul-searching I’ve been doing about my paid job. I work at a hospital foundation but I don’t have a genuine interest in philanthropy, healthcare or fundraising, so why do I work so hard? I guess I just have a strong work ethic which is obviously a good thing but sometimes I feel like this devotion to my paid job holds me back from pursuing my dreams. Should I just take the plunge and quit to concentrate on the work I actually want to do, such as finish that graphic novel I’ve been working on? Or would I fall apart without the stability of my routine? Or is this concern about losing my routine just an excuse to mask my fear of failure? Ultimately, am I still just circling the word “nothing”?

July 10, 1991

I was interviewed for the Suburban today (At the library). It was concerning the art stuff of course. There were two other kids she interviewed. Mom said that Joanne picked us three kids to be interviewed. Does that mean she thinks I have promise or something? I finished the portrait of Crystal I was doing. I think it turned out pretty well.

                                          Interesting that I don’t dwell on the subject of my art. Joanne was my oil painting teacher. I didn’t want to take that extracurricular activity because of my social anxiety but my mother forced me to and I ended up rather enjoying it. I thought at the time that I was one of the stronger painters in the class. I guess like a lot of artists I’ve always oscillated between thinking I’m the best ever, and the worst ever. We need that blind, and perhaps delusional, confidence and courage to create, but then of course we take a second look at our work and want to kill ourselves because it’s so horrifyingly bad. 

I have to baby sit at 12:30 tomorrow (for neighbours). Sigh. I’m feeling a bit down with myself. I hope I meet a guy in PEI. We will probably be leaving on the 18th. I really hope I meet my dream guy there. Want a description of my dream guy?

                                        Noooooo! I’m already cringing.

His name would be Taylor Full.

                                       Omg. You know why I wanted his last name to be Full? Because I wanted to have a daughter and name her Bliss. So her name would be Bliss Full. Yeah. I mean… but come on, cut me some slack, I was fifteen!

He would have shining green eyes, with just long enough and dark enough lashes. He would have dirty blond, wavy hair. It would be in a haircut that’s kinda messy, kind of ‘I don’t care’ style. He would have a nice, straight nose, just the right size. His eyebrows would be straight, not too bushy, you know? Just right. His lips would be like this: (I drew them). When he would smile he would have dimples. He would be just muscular enough, and about a head taller than me. He would not have a dark tan, but he would certainly be a lot darker than me! He would look a bit like this only cuter! (He would have a square face.) (His ears would be not too big, not too small, not stick out). I will write the personality and stuff tomorrow. Now I want to sleep and dream of him!

ideal-guy

                                                         I won’t keep you in suspense.

July 11, 1991

He would be sixteen and born in October, so he’s in the same grade as me and goes to BHS only he drives a car, a red convertible. He’s strong. He loves me. He’s Canadian and other nationalities. He’s a poet. Sigh.

                                                      Wow. How very specific. But it doesn’t stop there.

He would be sensitive and generous and nice and he would worship the ground I walk on. He would think I’m the most beautiful person in the world. His parents would be rich, but he would want to become a famous movie director/writer and make his own money. He would be independent, and fun and totally unprejudiced in every way. SIGH I wish.

                                                  Too funny. I love that I added the detail of the rich parents. And the red convertible. ?!?!? I was never, ever a car person, so that part’s weird. What’s sort of fun though is that the man I ended up with actually matches a fair bit of these criteria. He has green eyes, and his hair is definitely in an ‘I don’t care’ style, even though he cares deeply. He’s got good eyebrows and great lips. He’s strong and muscular, he’s not tanned but certainly darker than me. He’s Canadian, he’s sensitive, and generous, and loves me, and thinks I’m the most beautiful person in the world. He is definitely not a poet, but he fancies himself quite the rapper. He doesn’t come from money but  he does drive a car, and while he’s fun and independent, he does have a few prejudices, but they mostly match up with mine so it’s all good. 😉

                                           It’s nice that I can look back on this now and laugh, rather than sink into a depression born of lonely desperation. Progress!

Babysitting today was a drag. I babysit again tomorrow night for a new customer, someone on Viney. Boring. Life sucks.

                                           Yup. Life sucks. *eye roll*

July 9, 1991

It was pretty embarrassing for me and Keith to be at Crystal’s prom. I mean we felt pretty dumb, two kids with a bunch of prom dudes. Anyway, it was Canada Day last week and I wanted to go to all the festivities but nobody else did so we just went to Baskin-Robins. Jane went and she said I didn’t miss anything. But to be patriotic I stuck a little Canadian flag in my bike handle when we rode to get ice cream. I was invited to a surprise party for Alex Marquez (on Saturday). His brother called me. I said I wold probably go but then I didn’t. I wouldn’t have liked it anyway. Today Angela Aury invited me to her b-day party (tomorrow). I said I already had plans. I’m glad I said I had plans because I really don’t feel like going to parties these days.

                                     It’s ridiculous how long it took me to realize that it was my own fault I was lonely. I thought I didn’t have any friends, and that everyone hated me, but look at how many parties I was getting invited to! Sometimes, when I look back I think I should have forced myself to to go to these events, and romanticise what could have been, but the truth is I wouldn’t have enjoyed them, because of my social anxiety. Even today I require rather specific conditions to enjoy social gatherings, and get overwhelmed at the prospect of too much socialising

I can’t wait ’till we go to PEI, it will be fun. I finished making three puffy paint t-shirts today. I think they look good.

                               I don’t have those shirts anymore, but I feel pretty confident in saying they didn’t look good.

Well that’s it. Bye. 

P.S. I had a dream I was eating candy so I’m gonna send Keith out for some. 

                              I still dream about candy.