The days are filled with books, dreary skies, and food. I have gained two pounds over the holidays, and am now rumbling in the three digit world, what a strange point of view for me. We are going to Seattle tomorrow, a pleasant three hour drive, that will be filled with shopping and the stopping of hearts at the nicest of shops.

I should start on my resolutions list. I'll do fifteen this year, (my age):

1–I promise to wash the dishes at least once every other day.

2–I promise to stop my mother's fights, and attempt not to cause them.

3–I hope to get my splits down at the end of the year.

4–I hope to finish a long but satisfactory piece of work.

5–I hope to get all As and to stop my procrastination

6–I hope to find secure friendships

7–I hope to boost my self esteem, and leave depression in the dust.

8–I promise to go to the gym at least once or twice a month. I promise to make a routine

9–I promise to keep a calander and keep organized

10–I hope to find someone to love.

11–I promise to have a birthday party

12–I promise to save money

13–I promise to write thank you notes to everything I recieve

14–I promise to write letters to people I love

15–I promise not to lose friendships, instead change them, and make them better.

My Christmas was satisfactory. It was filled with excitement, presents, and games, just as a normal Christmas should. I should probably begin on my list of resolutions, though none have come to mind. I've a few goals like to not upset my mother too much and to publish a piece of work, and to fill my summer with wonderful things, but nothing formal, etc etc.

Anyway, the best part of Christmas is the leftovers and I will go and have some now. I have made up some very nice things to think about including green sweaters and mid-life crisises.


Some books: The Last Temptation of Christ, Rebecca, B.B Chow (touching), The Daring Book for Girls (my sister recieved this for Christmas and I dived for it–it is quite sad actually: read the preface), The Freedom Writers (the book), and Twilight.

The lovely troubles of Christmas are at peace at last. No more shopping woes or wrapping paper terrors. The only nightmare that has yet to come is the writing of the letter to Mr. Claus, something that must be done every year–it twould be sad if one evening I forgot to write it. That will be tomorrow's assignment, along with the cookie-baking.

I saw a story today about a girl whose mother caused her own disease for vanity. It made me tremble, and I knocked my tea to the floor of the cafe. Paranoia eats my soul, is that what I will become? Is that what I will do? I am scared of myself, and my mind. It frightens me how my body cringes at every sudden movement.

How will I ever live alone?

Incident 1
Remember Aimee, what a trapezoid looks like. It looks like a roof. It looks like an upside down salad bowl. Also remember what a D looks like. The uglyness, the unhappiness of its curved letters. Destructiotn, Demolition, Disaster, D. Remember what it looks like in red pen on the last remaining day before the holidays.

Incident 2
A smile and a wave, green apple in hand. Green apples are now my favorite food.

Incident 3
We linked arms and walked down to the cafe, smiling, red cheeks everywhere, green shirt, green apple, little clouds of breath and sunny apartment buildings, glistening with ice. This is what happiness means. The scent of coffee and sparkly shadows in the morning.

Incident 4
The pretty blonde in blue said, "I come with gifts." She looked down at the little girl in brown and said, "Take my gift. Make yourself seem pitiful."

Incident 5
I love green. Eyes green, shirt green, apple green. It is my favorite color. I love green apples. I have a field day on St. Patricks.

love you out Romance whistles in the air like sparklers spelling things. I love you, I love you, into the fake typewriter of the air.

Eighty six is a horrible number, it crumbles the tongue, the heartbreaking difference between success and medicore hell.

I despise six as well. Six resembles sixth period, my least favorite class. An hour spent staring across the room, smelling the sweet aroma of pot, tobacco, and hand sanatizer. I hate it, though not nearly as much as the girl who fainted to-day. The images of metallic popularity, held hands, gentle gestures, and eighty sixes in red rattle in my head, telling me to-day was a crap cake. And that tomorrow will be the same.


Oh, well. Nothing happened extraordinarily extraordinary to-day, with the exception of optimism and unlikely fantasies–but I managed to shove my troubles into the stocking and I'm sure that most of it will come out in the wash. Tomorrow is the last day, after all.

I won't see him for two weeks, three if he catches pneumonia.

I need to find someone to stay with me through the frightening stages of my life. I am desperately afraid of being alone.

To-day was a friendly day. I arranged candy canes in the shapes of hearts, and ate a quarter of a large chocolate bar. The guilt still weighs in my stomach.

We'll have a gift exchange tomorrow, lip glosses locked in stocking sized boxes, and loopy letters of holiday greeting. We'll talk of duet solo groups and kissing booths in dark alleyways. How I love the feeling of enclosure, the feeling of fingers clasped around my own. I may be considered romantic.

But despite that.I was called thin today, and tried not to think of a stick dressed up in mommy's makeup–playing awkward in the rain.

I finally know why pride is a fault.

Incident 1

I lost my mind while condescendation left my soul behind.

I can imagine him slamming her into the locker. Who knew that he could be so violent? He was not there for sixth period, either–I can see him in the streets of downtown, drinking a rum and soda at a sports bar, he looks twenty one after all.
Who knows what people could be after today? He changed my life, showed me the rough reality of it.

Showed me how many things happen behind locked doors.

Incident 1

My voice cracked as I turned to introduce myself, and as it was, they were not listening despite.

Incident 2

I am sure the attendees thought I was a stupid addition to the party as they typed away on their Blackberries

Incident 3

I gave an impression that I was emo. I am not emo. I am a preciously happy person, and my arms are not cut. I have no black rimmed glasses. I do not hate the world.

*****

Am reading Louisa Alcott's Little Women. It is quite good, as I'm in my English literature phase. I like the fluffly promptness of the words on my tongue. It is good text to read aloud.

The minivan will drive up any second, and I still have no socks. Little rebel. I wonder if her friends will all laugh at me.
My only comfort is my new PJ bottoms, blue and velvety. I have just returned home from shopping, buying lip-gloss, elephant slippers, and a pair of curious looking earrings. I hear a horn honking–goodbye.
My incident list will follow.

My family has destroyed my morning by taking me out shopping. My plan was to stay in bed, take a long pink bubble bath, and then give myself a french manicure. Unfortunately, I will do as they tell me.

I dressed in jeans but I hated them so I folded them up. My legs were ugly, so I folded them down. Then I folded them up again. My silver earrings are lost and I am not ready to be seen in public.

Thank God, I have this page. Thank God no one will care to write comments on it.

*******

I had a dream last night. In it, I met the grim reaper on the stairway and I kicked him in the balls.

My imperfection is apparent, and some days I do not even try to look all right. Computer screens flicker in my head, visions of bloodthirsty daggers, sunny days, funerals, black Corvettes, and passionate love scenes.
I tried to be talkative today, but no one wants to dance with me. Disappointment, because I thought boys would dance with skinny girls.

Incident 1

I walked awkwardly down the hallway, it was empty and he walked past me. I glowed in my awkward ugliness. If I knew how to do it well, I would put my hair up.

Incident 2

The french teacher arrived unusually late, leaving a group of us by the door–at the end of the large hall by a window. "Yes," said the pretty blonde in blue. "I am from Europe. I am also smart and talented." The boys all nodded in unison.

Incident 3

One fucking little nitwit said I had never used a cuss word in my life. What a little motherfucker who said that. I am not some sort of Marry Ann bitch. Who did he think I was?

Incident 4

I am sure they laughed at my legs during gym.

Incident 5

My writing is terrbile. I have written four sad poems. They sweep the attic floors, but do nothing to please me. I tap my pen on the counter. There must be some writing contests I should win.

Adieu