Monday, November 17, 1997.

{Written in the margin.} The touch of a woman’s lips is the softest, most sensitive, feeling, connection, that there can ever be.

Report card day today! I got 61, 63, 69, and 84. I was ashamed of my comp mark. My french mark was as expected and so was math. I told my mom it was hard but I know that my only problem is JC. {JC was my best friend but he was a pretty huge ass.} I’m going to ask MR to move me. I don’t want JC to know just b/c I know he’s say he’d change, or give it a break, but he’d be back at it in a week. So that’s the math problem solved. {MR moved JC the very first class after I asked. I thought there would be a fuss but MR moved him next to a cute girl JC was sweet on so he moved without objection.}

Well enough school crap. Time for WOMAN! {Oh hell! I thought this entry was going to be better.} I got an email from NR. She’s gone from “I hate him more than Satan!” to “I don’t know if I’m going to wait for him.” I mean WHAT THE FUCK!?! {I’m greatly upset by this?} Maybe she’s just calming down or something. I replied and tried to be as softly hard as possible. {What the fuck does that mean?} I made sure that she knew that I still loved her, but said “whatever you want” as many times as possible. {Well that should fix everything because #reasons. At the time I saw no need to write down what I said but that would have really helped to outline how “whatever you want” would help her feel better about being dumped…}

Til’ next time!
Love me!

Portrait Yearbook Girl 2


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