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October 30, 2005 The school day consisted only of last period, which was lunch. During lunch I was having a grand old time and stupidly said to Lauren, "Yeah, so my cat's in the car." The entire lunchroom went silent and looked at me, and it hit me that that was animal abuse. "Well--not in the car here, at your house..." "You can't leave a cat in a car!" one scandalized whore told me. "I'm sure my mom took him out!" I said to Lauren. "I'm sure he's in your house right now!" No one would listen to reason, they would only hate me and then go back to watching the spectacle of the soccer team in the middle of the cafeteria kicking the soccer ball around. I needed to call my mom and make sure Nezzetto was not baking inside a car. I asked someone, anyone for a cellphone. No one said either yes or no, they completely ignored me. "Can I use someone's cellphone? ... I mean, sure, I guess I don't need one, it's not like I care if my cat's going to DIE or anything, but it would be nice to talk to my mom." Finally Lauren relented, handing me her brand new cellphone, irritated. It was one of the new fangangled machines that required a certain level of coolness to operate it, and because I am not cool and have never owned a cellphone in my life, I couldn't do it, I couldn't use it. I was also going blind, so I couldn't even see what I was dialing--I called up some rude girl at one point. Lauren said I was wasting her minutes and took the phone away. Then the bell rang and I was in a shit mood. You know what, I decided, I am going to yoga today. So I went down to the workout room, which was shaped like the Black Veil room in the Department of Mysteries except instead of an archway on the dias it was a pit of fire to keep us warm, and we practiced in a shallow moat around the dias. The instructor, Tyra Banks, was on a riased platform at the front of the room, and she was pleased to see me returning to classes, because I hadn't been in a long time and it showed: Everyone else was able to do the backflip except me. In fact, Melani was so good at it that she backflipped all the way across the room, landed on Tyra Banks, and knocked the wind out of her. Tyra just laughed. Later, we were all in Chataranga when the soccer team came in and complained that this was their practice room. We said shove off. After about twenty minutes of yoga, I realized there was some hostility growing towards me, even from Tyra. I could hear them whispering that I was a cat killer and that I was going to kill all of them, too. I decided it was time to take my leave and go to the newspaper meeting, for which I was late. So I got out of the pool, changed clothes like a Sim, and headed for the portables. Halfway there, however, Ryan stopped me and asked me to help him--the soccer team couldn't get the clicker to work. I said, "Shouldn't you be practicing?" And he said, "Well we would, but yoga's in there. What a stupid class." I laughed like I hadn't been there and said, "Yeah, stupid." Then I fixed their clicker and continued on, only to be accosted by Mr. King right outside the newspaper door. He proceeded to tell me Christmas jokes for a while and I laughed politely until he said, "Oh look at the time! I need to go!" and scurried off. Then I went into the newspaper room, and who was sitting at the desk but... Mr. Williamson. "You're late," he said. "You quit," I retorted. "You are a half-hour late." "Forgive me, I was at yoga," I said sourly. "And I thought you quit?" "Yoga! Do you hear that?" he said to his henchman, who was standing next to him. "Yoga!" "Yes, yoga." "Yoga is for fools." "It was necessary today, I'm in a shit mood. And where is everybody? Where's Crosby?" "Everybody is gone, the newspaper is finished, no thanks to you." I scoffed. "No way is it finished, it's only been a half-hour." "You'd be amazed how fast we get things done when you're not here," he said. "I don't believe it. I'm the editor! I'm supposed to say when it's done!" Mr. Williamson stood up from Mr. Crosby's desk. When he wasn't sitting under that scary light hanging from the ceiling, he looked normal and cheerful again. "We can catch them, I think," he said, no longer being mean about things. We traveled slowly, because there was another person with us (whom I cannot remember) who held us up the whole time. We searched broomclosets and basements for Crosby for what seemed like days, finding only cookies and old movie reels, until... we found him. In another broomcloset. "You're late," he noted when he saw me. "Mr. Crosby," I shouted, "I was here until five o'clock on Friday! My half-hour tardiness should really be canceled out when I stay after for an extra three hours!" He smirked his little smirk. "I never told you to stay until five." "You told me you'd be back!!!!" "Anyway, here's the newspaper." It was completely changed. The layout, the fonts, the student ads--everything was changed but for the articles (which, I suppose, was a good thing). What was particularly odd was that instead of pages 1, 2, 3, it was 11, 22, 33. "Why are the numbers like this?" I demanded. "It makes it look more professional," Williamson said. "You mean it makes it look like we have more pages than we actually do," I replied smartly. "Very good. You deserve a cookie," said Mr. Crosby. And then he gave me one of the ones we found in another closet. And that was my dream.
October 29, 2005
October 19, 2005
October 10, 2005
October 7, 2005 Except all it means is that I'm going to meet more of your kind. All I want is to be alone--ALONE. Not alone like oh you want to be alone let's talk about. Not alone like let's be alone together. Not alone like well we can still talk online. Not alone like I'll give you a few days and then I'll get over it. I want to be alone. I want to be left to my studies and never bothered again. To live alone and not discuss anything anymore. I can't keep pretending to enjoy anything anymore. All I care about is myself, finally. Probably should have tried a little harder when I gave a damn.
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