I have a big problem I could share because you have absolutely nothing to do with it. My last journal -- the silver Monologue lined notebook -- is missing, apparently. Damn you if you think I'm calm. Every friggin' thing about my life since the eighth of June is inside that Moleskine knock-off. The worst thing about it being misplaced is that I know I brought it to school today. My stupid reason? I didn't write last night and I thought I could make up for it when I got to school the next day but when I arrived, I got my hands busy with a #1 pencil to sharpen my THE homework on perspective.
I don't want to enumerate all the hands who could be turning its pages right now. I hope she's somebody I haven't written about, or, at least, someone I've written good stuff about but I'd still rather have it buried under all the plastic bottle crap in the La Senza paper bag by the classroom's ledge. I already felt like dying when Micah figured out the link to this blog. It's like having her perforate a big bag of my secrets. That was the 16th of January. Now, on the 14th of August, with a journal I never meant any-freaking-body to see, I absolutely feel like dying, no joke.
The pretty notes I got from my Kap-sis were all in the pocket of that journal, along with the blue crepe paper somebody used to wrap my birthday gift. The souvenir I got from Talkyr, my favorite teacher, during the summer's probably also in that pocket. I even have a week's worth of allowance in it. Compiled on the journal itself are subtle hints of my most effed up opinions on most of my friends and quasi-friends, like Shaira's superficiality, to Pam's inner loneliness, and even updates on my pity party. I mentioned Paul Parlipiano's gayness and the person I stay up late for every night. All's lame and intimate to a certain degree because it's nobody's right to raid its content. Now I'm plain angry.
There's something about revealing too much and not getting ample feedback that makes the prospect of getting my journal back as bad as it is. This blog is proof. I'll leave my insignificant soliloquy at that. I woke up from a twenty-minute slumber and made this post but I still couldn't, for the life of me, remember how I lost that journal. I couldn't open my English book to study the different figures of speech or my Science notebook to go over Dimensional Analysis. The Quarter tests are on Monday and I'm not in a good enough disposition to study. I need my journal back. I need it back badly, lest this would be the prologue of my lovely suicide note. (Worry not; I'm only kidding.)
I don't want to enumerate all the hands who could be turning its pages right now. I hope she's somebody I haven't written about, or, at least, someone I've written good stuff about but I'd still rather have it buried under all the plastic bottle crap in the La Senza paper bag by the classroom's ledge. I already felt like dying when Micah figured out the link to this blog. It's like having her perforate a big bag of my secrets. That was the 16th of January. Now, on the 14th of August, with a journal I never meant any-freaking-body to see, I absolutely feel like dying, no joke.
The pretty notes I got from my Kap-sis were all in the pocket of that journal, along with the blue crepe paper somebody used to wrap my birthday gift. The souvenir I got from Talkyr, my favorite teacher, during the summer's probably also in that pocket. I even have a week's worth of allowance in it. Compiled on the journal itself are subtle hints of my most effed up opinions on most of my friends and quasi-friends, like Shaira's superficiality, to Pam's inner loneliness, and even updates on my pity party. I mentioned Paul Parlipiano's gayness and the person I stay up late for every night. All's lame and intimate to a certain degree because it's nobody's right to raid its content. Now I'm plain angry.
There's something about revealing too much and not getting ample feedback that makes the prospect of getting my journal back as bad as it is. This blog is proof. I'll leave my insignificant soliloquy at that. I woke up from a twenty-minute slumber and made this post but I still couldn't, for the life of me, remember how I lost that journal. I couldn't open my English book to study the different figures of speech or my Science notebook to go over Dimensional Analysis. The Quarter tests are on Monday and I'm not in a good enough disposition to study. I need my journal back. I need it back badly, lest this would be the prologue of my lovely suicide note. (Worry not; I'm only kidding.)
