January 4, 1993 – it’s okay because I don’t care

It’s about 2:0 AM. I have not yet gone to sleep. School is tomorrow. I don’t want to go back for the “school,” “learning” part of it, but I don’t mind seeing people. I also get a chance to go to my father’s house and to the library. I have an extensive reading list that I would like to see if they have any of.

It’s so hard to remember that there was no internet and I couldn’t just look this up on my phone.

[Later, at school]

I think that I have spoken too soon. Mr J has just made a pun joke out of my name.

My name lends itself to punning.

Today, I’m also rather pathetic about my looks. That may be because I stayed up until 2:30 reading and couldn’t sleep until about 3:0. My hair is falling out. I look terrible, but it’s okay because I don’t care.

My hair was not falling out. The problem was that, for a while, I decided not to brush or comb my hair, which is curly. It just got tangled and bigger and BIGGER. I could kind of mold it into a huge, nice-ish shape on my head. The hair that I thought was falling out was the hair that naturally sheds and that you usually get rid of with routine grooming. Years later, I read an article about the fashion designer Carolina Herrera in which she described how one of her daughters basically went through the same phase with her own hair and that Herrera had to admit it didn’t look so bad. So there you go.

God help us, he’s teaching us to write a paragraph. 000 Now he will teach us to write an essay. It’s said that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I rather like the idea that I could kill someone with my pen. It’s a fountain pen and I think I could probably poke someone’s eye out or stab them in the heart with it. It makes me feel extraordinary.

This is similar, I guess, to the satisfaction I feel when I hold a nice, heavy hammer. It’s so heavy and swingable. I can’t help but weigh it in my hands and whisper to it, “yes!”

I’ve realized that I’m not tired or depressed or bored. I’m just very sad. Nothing more can be said. Everything saddens me, even humor.

Someone needs to give this girl a hammer.

Life is not sad, it’s what has been done to it. It seems we have removed life’s dignity, it’s serenity, it’s silvanity.

“Silvanity” is not a word, but it does appear to be the screen name of some folks into wolves and fanfiction and also the name of a religion introduced in a prezi presentation I found online in the quick Google search I did for it.

Our world is dreary. There are about one billion seven hundred eighty-nine million two hundred thirty thousand seconds left of my life.

I’m not going to check the math here, but I may need to go cry in the shower for a while.

It just serves as a reminder that all this will go to waste unless I enjoy it. I’m not, by the way.

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