Wednesday, November 19, 1997 (2).

{Written in black pen between the paragraphs}

With life
comes death
with death
{Questioning our faith are we?}

Same day!

Well I talked to Katrina. Yay! I found out I have a problem with my attendance appointment. Apparently my bitch of a french teacher {I became a feminist… but I certainly was not one when I wrote that sentence.} wrote a note to Mrs Sinclair, saying every little misconceived thought in her annoying frog of a mind! {…I still hate Quebec nationalism but not francophones in general.}

{Written up the side of the page.} If a frog had wings it wouldn’t bump its ass when it hopped. {Wayne’s World. he he.}

I actually hate this woman. It’s like she gets joy out of torturing her students. Who sends fucking letters to students? Does she think her class is better or more important than any other class I skip? {Oh my God the arrogance of my youth. Maybe she thought a 16 year old should be in class… weird, right?} What the fuck is wrong with her? It’s not the class I was skipping I just wanted to be alone with Katrina. Don’t get me wrong I never expected anything {Yeah right! You were hoping. You wanted into her pants so bad you just had no idea what to do!} just time alone where we can talk and hold each other in private.

Done 4 now.


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