June 12, 1992

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.



                      Seems legit


May 9, 1992

I am crying because I went out with Genevieve last night and got an eye infection.

                                This made me laugh. I thought I was about to impart some great wisdom about the slow dissolution of my relationship with my best friend, but turns out no, I was just in physical pain.

I still like S.P.F. and I think he must be the one I like the most of all the guys I’ve ever liked because he’s made me forget about all the others. I don’t even like Taffy anymore. I used to think he was so great, and he’s still funny but our personalities don’t coincide. He’s not my type, he’s arrogant and not sensitive to other’s problems. He only knows what he knows, you know? He is oblivious to the world around him…

                                     What? What the hell am I on about? Am I still talking about Taffy, the teacher I had a crush on? I’m acting as though we had an intimate relationship, rather than one of child and authority figure. What had he done to upset me so much? And what did I expect? He was my freaking teacher!!!

B.H. 90210 premiered, I can’t see why people like Luke Perry… I don’t like Jason Priestly, I’ve forgotten about those others stars and the guy from art class. He’s nice but I don’t even want his friendship, I’m fine as just an acquaintance.

                                   Methinks I protest too much?

I would rather know this girl in my class.

                                Who? Why don’t I elaborate?

I am not as obsessive about S.P.F. but still like him.

                              Yeah, I was so not obsessed that I’d torn pictures of him out of magazines and tucked them into my diary. It’s ridiculous how I’m constantly berating myself for having celebrity crushes and then continue mooning over them. At least I’ve made progress on that front in the sense that I no longer feel ashamed over the celebrities I crush on. In fact I’ve had the same celebrity crush for about 16 years now and I don’t care who knows it. Jensen Ackles‘ beautiful face is the sole reason I still, STILL, watch the train wreck that is Supernatural. (I even kept watching after they killed off my female celeb crush Felicia Day!)

Right now all the stuff that matters and all I can think about is: Star Trek TNG and my art and my stories. Life sucks, I wish I could live in one of my fantasy worlds.



May 13, 1992

It’s my sixteenth birthday and I got an amazing gift. It was in People magazine. A picture of S.P.F. He was voted one of the 50 most beautiful people in the world 1992. 

                                       And then I just go on and on, ranting about how great he is and how I’m in love. #eyeroll

April 17, 1992

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. 

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*