August 6, 1991

Tuesday – We have been back for a few weeks or one and a half or whatever and I have got to call Genevieve and Jane.

It’s a wonder I’ve ever managed to maintain any friendships in my life since I’ve always been utterly incapable of using telephones, due to anxiety. Nowadays we have texting, which is a life-saver, but back then the thought of picking up a phone was panic-inducing. I doubt I ever called either Genevieve or Jane.

I got a letter from Marlene and am going to make her a comic of Mia + Avril.

                                     Mia and Avril were the alter egos my friend Marlene and I made up.  These alternate versions of us were, unfortunately, no more exciting than the real deal. I’m not sure if I ever made this promised comic. Somehow I doubt it.

On the vacation we went (on the last day) to Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum, it was cool! And we also did some mini-put on the way back. In the States we also did mini=put, and I got a shirt, denim, and dad got a whole lot of stuff…

                                  Riveting. But you know, those family vacations we took when my siblings and I were kids were a lot of fun. All things considered we were a pretty functional family. We got along for the most part and all had a good time. Even my sister, who was, and continues to be, the black sheep because she’s more sensitive and emotional than the rest of us, was a good sport about those family vacays and the cheesy things we did. Good for us.

August 16, 1991 – Friday – Marlene called me yesterday and said for me to call her (answering machine got it) so we could arrange meeting before school starts. I had a dream last night. In it I met a guy… SIGH. He had shoulder length blon curly hair, gray-blue eyes and was he cute. His name was Alexandre, we were on my driveway, there was snow, a bunch of other stuff happened but I only want to remember him… SIGH.

                                Yes, sigh indeed. I actually remember that dream. It wasn’t exiting in any way but back then dreams and fantasies were pretty much the only things staving off my crippling loneliness. Real interactions certainly weren’t helpful.

School starts the 28th!

                               I don’t think this exclamation point was excitement so much as dread. Actually, I probably was excited to be starting at a new school, because there was room for hope. So even though it was a completely unnecessary move, I think it was a good thing for me to switch schools half way through my high school career. Even that short-lived hope probably helped me sleep at night throughout the summer.

I switched because my friend Jane wanted to and since (or so I thought) she was my only friend, I decided to go with her. Academically I justified it because the new school offered art in grade 10, while my old school didn’t. Looking back I sometimes wonder how things might have turned out differently if I hadn’t changed schools. I hated my first high school because I was lonely, but in retrospect I was well-liked and had people to sit with at lunch. At my new school I just tagged along with Jane, disliked her new friends, and felt even more awkward than ever. Honestly, in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered where I was because my environment wasn’t the problem, I was.

Ultimately switching schools was the right move because it forced my younger brother to then go to that school (it was easier on my parents to have both kids at the same place [my sister had moved on to college by then]), and he ended up making life-long friends there. So you’re welcome, Keith!


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!


                                                         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*

May 24, 1991

I just sent Keith away to the dépanneur to get me 5 chocolate bars. Yes, I know I’m a pig but what can I do about it, that’s just the way I am.

                                                  I wish I still had that metabolism, and that carefree attitude.

7 days left of school! Then the Géographie and French exams. I’m sure to get recommended for Math, I got all 90s but I just wish he would give me the recommendation. I got recommended in English. On our last poetry test I got 100%. The first one in 5 years said Miss Allain. Annabeth (nerd) Napolitano got like 55%. That’s a pretty good feeling.

                                               I went to an English high school but took “French immersion” which means half of our classes were in French, which is why I spelled Geography in French. I don’t know what this obsession with “recommendation” is about. I have no recollection of what it meant or why I cared. Interesting that I felt confident about my math scores since I have no memories of ever being good at math. I do, however, remember that poetry exam. I always hated poetry because I didn’t often understand it, so it made me feel dumb, and my self-perception at that age was wrapped up in being smart. I knew I wasn’t pretty (I was wrong) but I thought I had above-average intelligence (I was wrong about that too). I was never at the top of my class but I also never put any effort whatsoever into school work. I guess my ability to perform well without effort is what made me feel smart so any time effort was required I resented it. In any case, I’m shocked that I made fun of a classmate for being a nerd. Didn’t I think of myself as a nerd? And how petty of me to be glad she performed poorly. Teenaged me was an asshole. At least I never mocked anyone to their face.

I hope I have a daughter one day. I hope she is artistic in some way. I hope she is creative and imaginative and unmaterialistic (in short I hope she’s like me, only prettier. I mean here’s my picture. Pretty depressing, huh?)

                                            It’s like I was fishing for compliments from myself. Did I really think I was that ugly? WHY?


I hope she’s smart too. I hope we have a good relation with each other.

This again, is not so much bad grammar as a Frenchism.

I would want her to know that she could talk to me about anything. About sex or drugs, or any problems she is having anywhere. It would be great to have a daughter I could teach and talk to and have fun with. But that will probably never happen because I’ll probably never get married or anything ’cause guys are scum. But if I did have a daughter I would give her a cool name like Bliss or Psyche or Anez-Jade or Jasmin-Kay or Aragel, not a loser name like Nicole! I would name her after a goddess or a jewel or something beautiful like that.

                                                This is sad because this yearning for a daughter was really a longing for a friend. I felt very isolated at this age. But thank god I never had a kid, because those names are awful. Anez-Jade??? Aragel??? WTF?! 

Well, talk to you later. I’m gonna eat a mint aero now!


P.S. In English class I was passing notes with Matt Topner. He was telling me he thinks his family is going bankrupt and stuff… yeah… will wonders ever cease?! Bye. NY

                                              I remember this too. I was never friends with this kid, and that didn’t change after our note-passing experience. (I guess kids today just text each other?) I suppose he reached out to me simply because I was sitting next to him. I hope everything turned out ok for him. That wasn’t the last time a boy randomly started passing notes with me. Looking back, I wonder if they were trying to tell me they liked me. I was really bad at picking up on such signals at that age. Actually I’m still bad at that sort of thing. Oh well.