December 18, 1992

It’s English. I have a quiz in every single academic class today. Mr J, I think, wants to be friends with his students. I really don’t want to be his friend. I don’t see Rat Girl. I better study. Where oh where is Rat Girl? Rat Girl is here. I can hear her…I just failed yet another quiz in History…I have one on Adam Smith, the Enlightenment, and this one to make up now. I also have a one page summary on my biography due. I’m reading about Byron. I wanted to do Blake, but the library didn’t have one. I also would have liked to do one of the Medicis, but they had no Medici biographies either. What’s this world coming to?

I don’t think my high school library’s collection development policy was designed with my peculiar literary needs in mind.

I had a very interesting question to ask last night, but I forgot it. Sometimes, when I’m relaxed, I imagine someone drilling a hole through the side of my head. Through the temple. It sounds really weird, but it makes me sleepy. E thinks I’m really weird, but she wants to have cushioned pits in the back of geometry.

The drilling is very relaxing if you ignore the imagined pain. I think it’s the pressure and vibration moving from one temple, through my head, and out the other temple that’s so nice. In any case, cushioned pits anywhere sounds amazing.

We’re going to watch a cheesy French Revolution film now. I hate films. I can never see them so I just don’t bother and instead stare blankly off into space. So, in a way, I do kind of like films.

Yeah, so we watched a lot of films in high school and I never saw a single one of them. I listened to Glory at least once a year.

This is actually a pretty short entry. I spend the rest of it complaining about friends hanging out with other people at lunch and on weekends. Some highlights from this passage

E, yet again, went off with her friends for lunch today. I’m not angry that she’s leaving me here.

Yeah, you probably are.

I like E. She’s my friend and there’s not much I can do about that…I feel I should rate a bit higher than other friends (I can write this because E is not going to read it).

I mean, friends who want to theologize with you are a definite 10/10. Also, E does read this later.

She’d rather be with them though. Because they’re fun. I’m not fun.

This sounds really sad and like I’m putting myself down, but I really think this is just me trying to be analytical and factual. I’m still not much fun. I’m not even sure I enjoy being around the people who are described as “fun.” Fun people never let you talk or get beneath their veneer. I have no idea if E’s friends were any fun though, since I don’t remember who they were.

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