This corrosion

I hate my stupid history teacher. And my stupid history class. As usual, my teacher got into her whole hippie crap thing and asked us "why do you think we keep saying people are different "races" anyway?" It was really creepy how she managed to put quotes on the word. I started asking what she meant, and whether or not she thought just saying everyone was equal really worked. She got more and more confused and then excused the class. Afterwards Steve Harper said to me, "Good going, Larson, you got her off the exam notes again." All I wanted to do was make her explain her position, and he kept on saying that it didn't matter what I thought, passing the exam was the important thing and repeating exactly what our clueless hippie idiot teacher said was how to pass the stupid exam.

I've got some time before drama club so I can practice my lines. I've halfway memorized them but I think I've been saying them in the halls. Some guy in Grade 9 gave me the weirdest look when I walked by him yesterday.

Vesuvius at home

Today is finally over. Once I got to school I realized that everyone in town had to have seen the newspaper. Zapata Henderson started in on me and I couldn't do anything because the stupid vice principal was standing right next to us and he thought I had been doing something community service related. Then I had to carry my Shakespeare (which my mother and I picked up in TO Friday afternoon and she swore I'd use for the rest of my life) around all afternoon since I didn't get back to my locker until after the drama club.
Then drama started late because Duncan Anderson showed up late again and it wouldn't matter except that King Duncan arrived late too, and Mirabell got confused between the real Duncan and the fake one. I hate drama.

Heaven knows I'm miserable now

Everyone in Milborough knows my uncle's an idiot now. I hate hockey. Uncle Arne came over this weekend so my father could start doing his taxes, and yesterday morning they watched the gold medal game on television. Uncle Arne wasn't even drunk and he insisted that my father drive around town with a Swedish flag on the car. My mother was smart and started doing laundry in the basement right then, so I had to go with them. I got out of the car at a stoplight when Arne wasn't looking and went to Tim Horton's and called my mother. She told me to wait there and she'd get me. When I was waiting by the Tim Hortons some stupid photographer came up and got a picture of me and some other people next to what turned out to be my uncle's car, with the Swedish flag. I hate my relatives.
On the way back home my mother said, "Miranda Anderson tells me that you're in the drama club with her son. Did you scare the poor boy?" I said no, but it seems that Mrs. Anderson told my mother at the clinic that I did, and I didn't know at first who she was talking about until I remembered that the only guy in the club named "Duncan" was the one who came in late.

Merciful release

I'm going to TO tonight to see Sex Without Souls at CFNY's studio. The venue's horrible, but it's free, at least. I want to see how Sisters of Mercy-influenced they really are. My parents are driving me in (bad) but will be at some stupid musical (good). I can't believe all the band geeks Mirabell dragged into the play. I guess I'm not the only one with guidance counsellor problems.

Something rotten

Drama club was horrible. Mr. Mirabell my Grade 11 teacher is the supervisor, and he's got a bunch of Grade 9 band geeks to join, too. We were doing the introductions and then some guy came in late and Mirabell said, "oh Duncan, I'm so sorry we're not using your talents and doing The Tempest." I don't know what kind of talent that guy has since Mirabell gave him the part of the Third Murderer. He sort of apologized for the "typecasting" as he called it when he told me I'd be playing Lady Macbeth. He's so enthusiastic for this it's sick. I'm going to go get a decent copy of the play instead of this stupid class copy. I sure as hell won't be going back to that stupid Liliputs--that muffin-eating clerk wouldn't know Shakespeare from a teddy bear picnic.

Cuteness must die

I went out to buy the Ted Hughes book before the drama club meeting. I didn't have much time so I just walked over to downtown and went to the only bookstore there. Stupid Milborough, doesn't even have a real downtown. The stupid store had TRAINS all over it (why?) and when I asked the stupid woman at the desk for Birthday Letters, she took forever to put down her stupid muffin and then got me stupid book about a dog and a bunch of gerbils having a fight over a birthday party . I just got out of there really fast. Everything near the counter looked like it had these weird light coffee-colour stains all over it, too. The trains really creeped me out, though.

Unhappy birthday

Drama club meets tonight, so there goes my birthday already. At least I have the same birthday as Edward Gorey. I'm going to buy Birthday Letters today before I have to go to the stupid drama meeting--at least it should make me feel better about my crappy birthday.

Dare you see a soul at the white heat

I had to join the stupid drama club today. I looked up the university admission guidelines and the guidance counsellor was lying, I don't need activities, but this will make him stop bothering me. The drama teacher was so sickeningly happy to have me sign up for his stupid little club. Oh Sandra, he said (and I wanted to kill him just then) you'll be perfect. You know Shakespeare, don't you? I said yes, I was only in university prep English. He's so freaking happy that the club's doing Macbeth. He gave me a copy from the cupboard and told me to "read up!" I wanted to throw up right then.

Welcome to the atrocity exhibition

I had to go to the guidance counsellor today because my stupid parents insisted on it. They said that I had to figure out what I was doing this summer because they weren't having me sit inside all summer with the candles on again. Anyway, the stupid guidance counsellor asked me what I wanted to do and I told him that I wanted to go to Toronto as soon as I got out of this hellhole. I hate hate hate Milborough so much. After he decided that I had to arrange my activities to look good to get into U of T (or York, or Ryerson, I'm not picky, I just need to go to TO) he said that I should go into the drama club since I was very dramatic and they could use that. So I have to join the stupid drama club. He also said I had to start that stupid community service crap the government wants us to do. He didn't answer when I asked him if I could do the community service thing where I wouldn't have to see anyone from the community.

The stupid therapist my parents make me go to says that writing my thoughts down will help me in understanding them, or something stupid like that. I hate this. I hate therapy. I hate school.
My family is so stupid. This afternoon my mother just looked at me and said Sandra honey, why don't you get dressed. It was like 4:00 or something. I told her not to call me Sandra and that I had more important things to do than think about putting on this and wearing that.