Kate.
Girl.
Eighteen.

Short and sweet.
The artsy friend.

Overly emotional.
Entirely too dramatic.

Doesn't have a clue.
   

<< June 2006 >>
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"You can't fight the tears that ain't comin
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive."
Goo Goo Dolls

"Don't think we're not serious
When's it ever not?"
Jimmy Eat World

"Because I knew you
I have been changed for good."
Wicked

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Friday, June 09, 2006
A Waste of Valuable Summer

So tomorrow I take the ACT. Again. For the fourth time. Call me obsessive if you wish; I know I can do better. (At least I'd better do better if I want to stay part of my family.) A twenty-something is an average score, and an upper-twenty-something is something most parents and colleges would be excited about. Not my parents, and not OCU. I have to get a 30. Repeat. This is my mantra. I must get a 30. I must be discounted ten-thousand dollars. Little dollars. Ten-THOUSAND of them. That's a lot of dollars.

I have been studying out of this damned ACT-practice book (that cost entirely too much for something made from recycled newspaper) for about a week and a half now, and during many a science reasoning practice run I have found myself longing to slit my wrists. I'm not even IN school any more. I graduated. I should be thinking thoughts that don't even BEGIN to relate to the Pythagorean Theorem, and directing my energy towards things that matter: A job. Money. Writing. Blithering on and on and on about musicals to anyone who will listen. Playing a hell of a lot more Capture the Flag. Consuming at least double the amount of blue popsicles I have had this summer. (Note: my total is one. I am not a cow.)

Tomorrow I will wake up hideously early for a Saturday in June, throw on clothes, wrestle a brush angrily through my hair, and stomp downstairs. I will toast myself a tiny bagel (because I don't like the word "mini") and stomp off to Jill, who will stomp off to QuikTrip so that we can have a nice drink together - me, syrupy coffee; her, very very expensive gasoline espresso. (How strange, to realize that coffee is, basically, bean juice. Wouldn't it be great if we could grow petroleum beans? Oh wait... that's ethanol.)

I will be so happy at noon tomorrow that you, my friend, may actually feel the happiness waves radiating off my person when the timer for section 4 has sounded - like Jean Grey when she got pissed and started doing menacing things with her mind, like levitating rocks. Oh - and vaporizing people. (But I won't do that. My happiness waves will only pleasantly tickle.)

I will go ghost-hunting. Mark my words. And it will be so damn fun. And I'll shoot myself a ghost, and tack it to my wall like a trophy. In fact, I dare any ghosts to try and scare me. I DARE THEM!!!!


Posted at 10:34 pm by AoiHoshi

 

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