Oh My Lord I am so busy with the play and it’s going to be AMAZING even though I still have this thing on my face after the whole Valentine’s debacle. I have decided not to think about that anymore as it will only lead to the sort of negative feelings that may affect my performance.
I am really glad that Erin & Steve have each other.
Today the green room Greg and Stewart got in trouble with The Director for playing the stereo by the rotten orange sofa. I don’t think I even knew that stereo worked, by the way. Anyway, they played Nirvana and it was very noisy and abrasive and minor keyed. I could see that Steve hated it. He just shook his head and said something like, “They’re making fun of everything I care about.” And Stewart said, “Yeah, dude, that’s sort of the point.”
All five of the girls that have crushes on Stewart just stood there and rolled his eyes and Steve walked off like he was better than everyone else. I know I should be over this, but there was piece of me that wanted Steve to like the song and a part of me that was glad he hated it because I like it and he doesn’t know everything.
She definitely told Stewart about it. Gross.
 Two black eyes from hitting a concrete floor. One large scrape from where my right cheek hit the meeting place of industrial carpet and brick wall.
 In which I decided to tell my crush—Steve—that I had feelings for him, so went to campus on the night of the Valentine’s Day dance in my new pink fuzzy sweater to find him working in the light booth at the at the theatre with a close friend of mine, who I didn’t really know he was dating. I discovered them in a private moment. My friend ordered me out. I remember taking a step down the metal ladder that led up to the booth and the next thing I remembered was being flat on my back at the bottom with a concussion (above) and a romantic date with the CAT scan at Mission Hospital.
 There’s no typographical shorthand for martyrdom, but this should be read in roughly the same tone as your mom’s “It’s fine. You kids go out and have a great time. I’ll just stay here in this dark kitchen washing all your dishes by myself.”
 I’m pretty sure this was the first time I remember hearing Nirvana, by the way.
 Translation: “I’m still in love with this asshole because I’m fifteen and I neither know any better nor have any self-respect, so as a result I’m loathe to say anything terrible about him because what if he finds my journal and reads something that he won’t like and decides to never love me? But basically, I think he’s a shitty shitbag and fuck him for ruining my Valentine’s Day. Nirvana Rocks!”
 A school-run required three-day event. Widely regarded as Inquisition-level torture.
 We did this. I could not possibly tell you why. It was freezing cold and foggy and rainy. I was covered in mud by the time we found a space to get off alone and do it. I mostly remember than we ran down into this glen through a bunch of winter laurel and by the time we got back to the campsite the sides of my boobs were all scratched up. Stewart missed the show (much to Kara’s chagrin) because he was too busy canoodling with the other four girls on the camping trip that were into him. There was, however, a Taiwanese exchange student that spied on us. He just pointed and laughed uncontrollably when he saw us, which made Kara and I feel marginally better about everyone making fun of his Calvin Klein cologne (worn even in the woods) and his battery-powered electric socks.
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