The Class Was Bad

Sometimes I can't figure out what my little brain was thinking.  Mr. Campaign was our school headmaster, Mrs. Markwell was my 3rd grade teacher.  Seeing as I wasn't even there that day, I don't know where I got this story from.

Other than that, I'm impressed I spelled "temperature" correctly, and not surprised I spelled "gone" as "goon."

High School

How come no one thought to get me on Prozac earlier?

Be Free, St. Neds

 A recurring theme in my childhood and young adult life was obsessive friendships.  They weren’t necessarily sexual (actually I’d be hard pressed to think of one that was), but I was OBSESSED with these girls and the relationships we had.  I wanted to be the most important thing to them, their closest friend and confidant, and once we was old enough to know sex, I wanted the closeness of that with them too.

This entry is from my 6th grade diary, and I’m not sure if it’s an early obsessive friendship or just normal jr. high Mean Girls drama.  It’s probably a little bit of both.  I also think I’ve always had a heightened emotional reaction to things, and I attribute a lot of my youthful angst to that (and my current angst too, these things don’t just go away).

 It’s still funny though. The “Best Friends” ring or piece of jewelry was such a THING, like who gave one to who, who wore which half (“Be Frie” or “St Nds” - pronounced “Be Free” or “St. Neds.”)  And “If I had it my way no one would be popular” is such BS, if I was popular I never would have said that.

What A Bad Day

I still leave letters off of words all the time, I think because my brain moves faster than I can write by hand.

Dream Wedding Dress, 6th Grade

The Shadow of God

Organized dancing often leads to religious revelations for children..

Sooo Much To Say!

Sixth grade was the first year of "middle school," which is what St. Margaret's called Jr. High.  I didn't realize how lame I sounded saying "Lower School," "Middle School" and "Upper School" until I started talking to normal people that went to grade school, junior high and high school.  Anyway, I was 11 years old in 6th grade, and enjoying my last gasp of Lolita-aged hottness before puberty had it's cruel, cruel way with me.  In this installment of my Very Secret Diary, I must decide between two equally "nice & cool" prospective "b-friends," struggle with the jealousy I have for a friend with "an awesome popular boyfriend," and fret for the health of yet another friend who may be "anerexic or balemic (sic) I can't remember which."  But none of that really matters because "I can't wait 'til summer!  Weeee!"

Boyfriends, bulemia, whatever!!  I love passing notes and soccer is so cool!

 
Post script - the very next day one of my amorous suitors "un-asked me out" because he "didn't feel the same way anymore."  So I said yes to the other one.