My hair is gone, and so is Jimmy.
I cut six inches of it off last night, and he cut me off this morning. I said goodbye to both of them, and that was that.
It has been raining here all day. There are those who are literally dancing for the rain to end right now. Parties have been planned and the lies have been lied, and it would be a pity for all of that hard work to be shut down by nature instead of drama.
(I, while not partying, have got into the lying action--a friend of mine has told her parents that she's spending the night at my place, because I'm Nice and Safe and Such A Good Influence.)
My mother bought stamps today of that Mary Cassatt painting that hangs in our living room--the two little girls at the beach. She says it reminds her of her daughters, and I'm the one whose face is visible.
I'm envious of my sister, then, in her mysterious sunhat with the red ribbon. She is so much more romantic.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 3:47 PM
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
I'm not a very good summer school rebel. The most I could muster up was playing my iPod loudly enough so that everyone in the classroom could hear the strains of Beulah. And when I say everyone, I mean Jimmy.
Jimmy is the sort of kid that is friends with everyone but best friends with no one. His haircut is never fresh. His voice is nice, but not georgeous. His last name is hard to pronounce.
Jimmy is my hot summer prospect, and Jimmy is in my summer school class.
I'm not sure if he knows who Beulah is, although perhaps you don't either.
Inside the computer lab, the temperature was roughly 30 degrees, despite the 90 degree weather lurking just outside the sun filled window. Carla and I shivered our way through the basic questions of physical fitness (Frequency! Intensity! Time!) until lunchtime came and we panted under the shade trees as we ate our dry tortilla chips and pretended they were mangos.
I asked today why the flags were at half-mast, forgetting about the Ronald. In the NYTimes yesterday, there was a picture of a mourner bawling at the entrance to a makeshift memorial. I couldn't comprehend this. Not because it's wrong to grieve, but because I feel no emotional attatchments to celebrities, presidential or otherwise. Especially to presidents who served before I was born. The 60 minutes special was very nice, though.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:21 PM
Monday, June 07, 2004
I turned fifteen on the last day of my first year of highschool, and it is now the first monday of SummerVacation.
I swore I wouldn't write again, and so it seems that if I do it should be something grandiose and beautiful, but the real reason is that the puppy's asleep on the leather recliner and it's overcast by the lake. I will document this summer with the boring sleepy words.
I went to summer school this morning. Not because I am in need of remedial studies, but because my school requires a half credit of Health to graduate, and I simply do not feel like sitting in a classroom for an entire semester with some failed gym teacher teaching me the importance of toothbrushing. Instead, I opted for the weeklong class via computer located at the city's "community highschool" (read as: one step up from juvenile prison; upon entering the building this morning, my friend's older, wiser brother cautioned us, "If you smell cocaine, that's normal.")
Carla and I, there for the same reason, have decided to out-delinquent the delinquents.
Then we went home and brushed our teeth, because tomorrow is when it all begins.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 12:27 PM