(no subject)
I've been really busy with homework and stuff. Okay, in alternative school you don't really get homework. But I've been busy nonetheless. Don't ask me how so.
John visited yesterday. Unfortunately, it wasn't as pleasant as his earlier stay. Poor darling's sick. Also I can tell his girlfriend, Beau, who he's miraculously still seeing, (my brother hasn't held a girlfriend this long since... ever. He says if this one doesn't work out, he's going to start experimenting with men) really does not care for my sister and I. And she made a point of showing it in all the most immature ways; from tripping me on the stairs, to telling me I was "too young to decide my sexual orientation", to whispering in my brother's ear, loudly, so we could hear, that Nicole, my sister, ought to do something about her room and her boyfriend's hair. His hair is supposed to like that anyway. They're goth.
Anyway, I turned sixteen yesterday. I'm a pathetic example of sixteen. No driver's license, 5'3, facial baby fat, virgin, alternative school, no girlfriend/boyfriend. And on top of all of that, I feel OLD. I swear, I feel ninety-years-old. Just you think. Soon, I'll be seventeen, then eighteen, then thirty, then a hundred.
Not that any of that matters, I suppose considering my OCD tells me I'm going to die of cancer when I'm eighteen.
Anyway, Magsy tried to cheer me up. She says I don't look a day over fourteen, the sweet girl. And she hugged me, like she always does.
You know what tastes dreadful? Orange soda. And pineapple. And grape. Cantaloupe.
John visited yesterday. Unfortunately, it wasn't as pleasant as his earlier stay. Poor darling's sick. Also I can tell his girlfriend, Beau, who he's miraculously still seeing, (my brother hasn't held a girlfriend this long since... ever. He says if this one doesn't work out, he's going to start experimenting with men) really does not care for my sister and I. And she made a point of showing it in all the most immature ways; from tripping me on the stairs, to telling me I was "too young to decide my sexual orientation", to whispering in my brother's ear, loudly, so we could hear, that Nicole, my sister, ought to do something about her room and her boyfriend's hair. His hair is supposed to like that anyway. They're goth.
Anyway, I turned sixteen yesterday. I'm a pathetic example of sixteen. No driver's license, 5'3, facial baby fat, virgin, alternative school, no girlfriend/boyfriend. And on top of all of that, I feel OLD. I swear, I feel ninety-years-old. Just you think. Soon, I'll be seventeen, then eighteen, then thirty, then a hundred.
Not that any of that matters, I suppose considering my OCD tells me I'm going to die of cancer when I'm eighteen.
Anyway, Magsy tried to cheer me up. She says I don't look a day over fourteen, the sweet girl. And she hugged me, like she always does.
You know what tastes dreadful? Orange soda. And pineapple. And grape. Cantaloupe.