Spilling itself on the contents of my bag to make a sticky, unreadable mess out of it was another of the gazillion purposes of an all-purpose cream.
It was my stupidity, of course, to leave an open packet of all-purpose cream on my bag. That was a rather lucid proof that I'm not meticulous with the way I organize, if I organize at all. I've partially ruined at least two books (How They Met, and Other Stories by David Levithan and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger), the previously misplaced LOH, my Bible, a two-page Math module and my private journal.
I ended up with over an hour of cleaning, on my usual corner, at school.
[I don't know if it's desecrating to say I care more about my journal than my Bible, but that's what I've been thinking. Journal over Bible, my words over God's Word. Cue some kind of warning bell because I so gloriously need it. Mind you, I'm serious.]
Today was the fourth time I've brought my Journal Intime #5 to school but it never really occurred to me that its life outside my desk would threaten its legibility, by way of cream. Now I no longer feel obliged to put my life into it.
But if memory serves, that journal still had nineteen blank pages. I made that count at two in the afternoon today, when the cream was still where it was supposed to be. I really don't know how much of my recorded life that cream has smudged to oblivion but I'm hoping it left enough for me to keep the journal.
And the devils within it.
[In line with that, I think I should mention another fact about that journal which is now infested with calcium. My dad gave it to me for my 13th birthday, an odd coincidence with the one of Anne Frank's. I'm not correlating my life with hers but I figured I had nothing else to do with this trivial realization but have it posted as another one of those useless things between box brackets.]
Anyway, I'm anticipating the most jejune occasion of the year, V-day. I feel so greatly involved with it when I know I have absolutely no credible reason to do so. Hahaha.
It was my stupidity, of course, to leave an open packet of all-purpose cream on my bag. That was a rather lucid proof that I'm not meticulous with the way I organize, if I organize at all. I've partially ruined at least two books (How They Met, and Other Stories by David Levithan and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger), the previously misplaced LOH, my Bible, a two-page Math module and my private journal.
I ended up with over an hour of cleaning, on my usual corner, at school.
[I don't know if it's desecrating to say I care more about my journal than my Bible, but that's what I've been thinking. Journal over Bible, my words over God's Word. Cue some kind of warning bell because I so gloriously need it. Mind you, I'm serious.]
Today was the fourth time I've brought my Journal Intime #5 to school but it never really occurred to me that its life outside my desk would threaten its legibility, by way of cream. Now I no longer feel obliged to put my life into it.
But if memory serves, that journal still had nineteen blank pages. I made that count at two in the afternoon today, when the cream was still where it was supposed to be. I really don't know how much of my recorded life that cream has smudged to oblivion but I'm hoping it left enough for me to keep the journal.
And the devils within it.
[In line with that, I think I should mention another fact about that journal which is now infested with calcium. My dad gave it to me for my 13th birthday, an odd coincidence with the one of Anne Frank's. I'm not correlating my life with hers but I figured I had nothing else to do with this trivial realization but have it posted as another one of those useless things between box brackets.]
Anyway, I'm anticipating the most jejune occasion of the year, V-day. I feel so greatly involved with it when I know I have absolutely no credible reason to do so. Hahaha.
