Don't bother with the Oscars: "The Departed" won Best Picture
School, tomorrow. Shit. I don't know if I'll be able to go; I might not be able to get out of bed. I was supposed to go to school (just French, no SOTA), last Friday, and I couldn't. I just broke down in the shower. I didn't cry; it was werid. I just sat there, in the damp tub, after the water was off, and ignored my carpool, my mother, everything. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't get out. I couldn't face the world.
I was at my dad's this weekend. It was strange, if not awkward, because Sherri, his girlfriend, was there, the whole time. Her dog, Pumpkin, a mostly-Pekinese, was also there. I paid a lot of attention to her-- she's a sweet dog, though she looks a bit like a snaggle-toothed lantern fish.
It was really my fault that Sherri was there, I guess. My dad asked if I would mind if she came over, and I said that I wouldn't. It was Friday night, Charlie was at a party, and I had no idea that she wouldn't leave until Sunday evening. I don't dislike Sherri-- I might even like her. But I had to be on my "company manners." I had to smile, when I wanted to cry-- to make small talk, when I wanted to communicate with grunts-- to be awake, when all I wanted to do was climb into a small wolf's den with a wool blanket and breathe as little as possible.
But I couldn't. It is whenever I wish to not breathe that I find myself still breathing.
I did go to a movie with Lucy and Olivia, this afternoon. "Music and Lyrics." It's cute-- adorable, really. But it's sort of like the Oscars, which are on now. I can't express my love, because I'm too wrapped up in how I feel. Maybe I'm selish, or full of myself. Maybe I'm just going through some clothes-envy. Certainly, the M&L costumes rocked, as do the Oscar gowns (props to Rinko Kinkunchi, Rachel Weisz, Kate Winslet, and Cate Blanchette, especially). And I'm really psyched, on the costuming subject, that "Marie Antoinette' won.
I do like Sherri. She's nice. But she's the sort of person who can only ever just be nice. She is not the sort to inspire passion, or any sort of intense emotion. Parents who divorce are told to wait something like six monthes, before introducing them to a date. My father, obviously, didn't know this. But I don't think that I would be more excited, or anything, in another half-year.
There's another thing that men (not really women) who divorce sometimes do. "Replacing." I think that my dad might have done this, just because he's managed to get a steady girlfriend, so soon. Sherri is a lot like my mother, too, though less interesting. They both have blue eyes, dark brown hair, pale skin. My mom is taller, though, and not so skinny. Prettier, too, though I'm obviously biased. My mom doesn't think so, but I consider her to be quite lovely. Sherri is more mousy. She has no spark. If someone had to guess which one (Barbara or Sherri) was trained as an actor, and which is training to be a nurse, it wouldn't be at all difficult.
The thing is, I don't think that it's my place to say any such thing. I'm a sophomore. I'm getting out of here-- this city, this state, this country-- as soon as I can. My dad will be alone, unless he finds someone. This wouldn't be my fault, even though I don't live with him, if I planned to go to UW and visit with the family, every weekend. But I'm going away. By this time, in two years, I'll have my trunk packed. Even if I don't get into any colleges, I'm leaving. I'm going away. Getting out of here. I'll work my way through Europe, or Latin America, or just become a waitress in Ontario, making whatever minimum wage is, in Canada.
What I'm trying to say is that it's not for me to say if my father goes out with someone whom I do not immediatly adore. And, maybe, it's my fult, that I plan to abandon my family-- to leave them, if not immediatly alone, then certainly not anywhere near where I can help them.
In any case, I guess that the point of this post is that I'm severly depressed. I need to go to school, tomorrow; I have a math test on an assignment that I haven't had time to do yet, which is due tomorrow, as well as a lab report to turn in, typed up, though I don't think that I'm doing it correctly, and I have to read aloud the final of my short story, in Humanities, which I would normally enjoy, and, of course, I have no idea what I missed in French class. I've got way too much to miss, but I'm sitting here, watching "Little Miss Sunshine," amd I think that I'm going to cry.
Also, my throat hurts.
I was at my dad's this weekend. It was strange, if not awkward, because Sherri, his girlfriend, was there, the whole time. Her dog, Pumpkin, a mostly-Pekinese, was also there. I paid a lot of attention to her-- she's a sweet dog, though she looks a bit like a snaggle-toothed lantern fish.
It was really my fault that Sherri was there, I guess. My dad asked if I would mind if she came over, and I said that I wouldn't. It was Friday night, Charlie was at a party, and I had no idea that she wouldn't leave until Sunday evening. I don't dislike Sherri-- I might even like her. But I had to be on my "company manners." I had to smile, when I wanted to cry-- to make small talk, when I wanted to communicate with grunts-- to be awake, when all I wanted to do was climb into a small wolf's den with a wool blanket and breathe as little as possible.
But I couldn't. It is whenever I wish to not breathe that I find myself still breathing.
I did go to a movie with Lucy and Olivia, this afternoon. "Music and Lyrics." It's cute-- adorable, really. But it's sort of like the Oscars, which are on now. I can't express my love, because I'm too wrapped up in how I feel. Maybe I'm selish, or full of myself. Maybe I'm just going through some clothes-envy. Certainly, the M&L costumes rocked, as do the Oscar gowns (props to Rinko Kinkunchi, Rachel Weisz, Kate Winslet, and Cate Blanchette, especially). And I'm really psyched, on the costuming subject, that "Marie Antoinette' won.
I do like Sherri. She's nice. But she's the sort of person who can only ever just be nice. She is not the sort to inspire passion, or any sort of intense emotion. Parents who divorce are told to wait something like six monthes, before introducing them to a date. My father, obviously, didn't know this. But I don't think that I would be more excited, or anything, in another half-year.
There's another thing that men (not really women) who divorce sometimes do. "Replacing." I think that my dad might have done this, just because he's managed to get a steady girlfriend, so soon. Sherri is a lot like my mother, too, though less interesting. They both have blue eyes, dark brown hair, pale skin. My mom is taller, though, and not so skinny. Prettier, too, though I'm obviously biased. My mom doesn't think so, but I consider her to be quite lovely. Sherri is more mousy. She has no spark. If someone had to guess which one (Barbara or Sherri) was trained as an actor, and which is training to be a nurse, it wouldn't be at all difficult.
The thing is, I don't think that it's my place to say any such thing. I'm a sophomore. I'm getting out of here-- this city, this state, this country-- as soon as I can. My dad will be alone, unless he finds someone. This wouldn't be my fault, even though I don't live with him, if I planned to go to UW and visit with the family, every weekend. But I'm going away. By this time, in two years, I'll have my trunk packed. Even if I don't get into any colleges, I'm leaving. I'm going away. Getting out of here. I'll work my way through Europe, or Latin America, or just become a waitress in Ontario, making whatever minimum wage is, in Canada.
What I'm trying to say is that it's not for me to say if my father goes out with someone whom I do not immediatly adore. And, maybe, it's my fult, that I plan to abandon my family-- to leave them, if not immediatly alone, then certainly not anywhere near where I can help them.
In any case, I guess that the point of this post is that I'm severly depressed. I need to go to school, tomorrow; I have a math test on an assignment that I haven't had time to do yet, which is due tomorrow, as well as a lab report to turn in, typed up, though I don't think that I'm doing it correctly, and I have to read aloud the final of my short story, in Humanities, which I would normally enjoy, and, of course, I have no idea what I missed in French class. I've got way too much to miss, but I'm sitting here, watching "Little Miss Sunshine," amd I think that I'm going to cry.
Also, my throat hurts.