The following blog post(s) are done in the style of my sophomore-year journal, taken from a diary-like notebook that I have used to jot down little things that have occurred during the day. Basically, this is what's happening as I'm getting ready to leave home (AGAIN) and go back to Inty. Not quite my usual blogging, but at least this will force Lazy!Me to post every day (well, almost, anyway) until I get back to school.
NOTE: There won't be a post on either Friday or Saturday, because I'll be at a wedding for one of those two days and traveling on the other. I'll be able to post on one day, depending on the hotel's internet service, but not the other. So I'll have to roll two days into one post, most likely. Just a heads-up.
And now, without further ado (or babbling), here is my official...
COUNTDOWN TO THE END OF SUMMER
(For all of you wondering, yes, this IS how I journal when I'm not handing it in for a grade.)
AUGUST 25, 2010
9:00 A.M.
Alarm clock goes off. I turn it off, not really wanting to get out of my nice, comfortable bed yet. Mom promises that if I fall back to sleep and I'm not up by a certain time, she'll come get me. I begin a nice daydream about meeting Tim Burton and, what a coincidence, I just happen to have a copy of my feature script with me...
11:37 A.M
I open my eyes and realize that I've overslept. Yikes! Whatever happened to Mom? Oh damn, she's on a conference call. I'll have to fend for myself as far as breakfast's concerned.
12:30 P.M.
God only knows how I pulled this off, but somehow, I managed not to burn the eggs and feed Dad as well as myself.
2:11 P.M.
Dad's out, getting the air conditioner for our car fixed. While he's out, Mom's trying to tame my bird's-nest, Linda-Blair-in-The Exorcist-like hair into submission with a large-barrelled curling iron. It's Mom Vs. The Hair...and I think, at this current time, The Hair is winning.
2:30 P.M.
And we're off like a thundering herd of turtles! Dad and I are going to drop the car off at the mechanic's (it's STILL not working, damn thing), walk over to the sport shop, and find a scooter for me to use at school this year. Apparently Razor's scooters are all built for midgets (okay, small children, then) nowadays, so I'll have to settle on a different brand (which I do NOT want to do!), the only thing I refuse to do is get a motorized scooter. In addition to all that, we have to get my TB test read (a requirement for school, unfortunately), drop of the NetFlix movie at the post office, and drop by Meijer for some hair-care supplies.
4:17 P.M.
We found a scooter, but I'm doubtful of its performance. I could barely stay on the damn thing in the store, on a carpet floor, so I doubt I'll be able to make it work when I'm on a hard surface (concrete, for example).
5:31P.M.
We're home and I'm now decorating a jeans skirt with my new favorite artistic medium: Fabric paint. Just as I suspected, the damned scooter does not work. We'll have to take it back and see if we can't find a new one that a) does not make me look like a giant, and b) does not require a rechargable battery. Meanwhile, Mom yacks on the phone and Dad is off to go sailing.
6:42 P.M.
Going out now. Got to get that TB test read and get some food. Mom's off the phone. I just drew the Runaways logo on my skirt. When we get back I'll try to work on my college essays.
9:00 P.M.
Working was a bust; I sat at the kitchen table and painted my nails "Celeb City Silver." Now I'm simultaneously doing SAT prep and desperately trying to think of something for my senior thesis. Everything--and I do mean EVERYTHING--that I write is a complete and utter cliche. I'm so f#$%ing screwed. I honestly just want to remake Alien Water Torture the way it WOULD'VE been done if I'd had the balls (figuratively, that is) to stand up to my thesis advisor and say, "Look, a-hole, if you don't have the time to help me, pass me on to Lesley or Michael, but if you do, then HELP ME and stop acting like I'm worthless because my script doesn't contain monsters, sex, or crazed killers."
10:22 P.M.
Dad just called and helpfully reminded me that I should be packing. He's right. But at the moment, I'm fried from SAT prep and all I really wanna do is sit at my computer and lose game after game of Gone Fishin'.
10:45 P.M.
Dad's on his way home from sailing. Time to go downstairs and make cookies before Mom pronounces it "too late." While the oven is heating up I have to do laundry. Good fun that.
11:19 P.M.
Back upstairs with cookies and lemonade to help me through the terror that is my thesis treatment. I still don't know what it's about, only that it is a period piece of some kind and that it will preferably contain ghosts.
11:39 P.M.
Parents going to bed. Must go kiss them goodnight. Time for me to go to bed as well--no point in staying up when I know that if I do, I'll just end up playing Gone Fishin' again instead of actually working.
11:55 P.M.
Blogging. Time to post and go to sleep. How long can it really take a person to copy down three pages of a journal?
And now here it is, 12:30 and I'm still up. Ah, the irony. Now I actually AM going to bed...so, sadly, no stolen dialogue tonight.
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