It is eight in the morn and I just recently arrived to school in the clothes I wore to sleep last night. “Over” by Portishead plays in my phone. My teacher says I have free time because one of the three students didn’t show up. I am exhausted.

Last night my mother and I were going to the gym and there were issues with our membership, so we ended up walking around the cinema. Whenever I wear my workout clothes, I never end up working out. I hex it probably. Maybe I should go out walking with a dress and then nothing unfortunate will happen to prevent my exercise. I was going to take ballet classes, but I have to focus on school, plus night school.

My hair is messy and my eyes ever so sticky even though I washed them. Am I dreaming? I don’t feel focused on anything. I hope my mother drives me to San Francisco today.

My sister scared the hell out of me when I was about to sleep by telling me the ghost of Marc Bolan was going to show up right outside my window. You should know that I am frightened of ghosts, more than the dark. I’m not scared of Marc, but the phantasmal figure of him in my head, in the dark, staring outside of my window, terrifies me.

Then we started to zoom in pictures and pretended they were right outside the window. Thanks to this I went to bed at midnight. My alarm played at 6:06 and I pressed the snooze button and went back to sleep. I really do feel like manure in the morning. I’m groggy and irritated and denounce the world.

I traveled to dreams of returning to my school from early Junior year with the females from Gilmore Girls and my principal didn’t want to take me back (I had all Fs and was such a crying mess) and then in a class or office he had a little portrait of Kriemhild from Die Nibelungen. “He likes Fritz Lang?” I asked. “Now, I have to go here!”

It was like a small boarding school and T. Rex (apparently it was a band covering “Rabbit Fighter”. I changed it! Such a sinful thing.) was playing and I was about to cry. Then Rory Gilmore and her friend Lane were sitting way back from the football field just chatting.

Then I awoke for some reason and checked the time and it read “7:31”. Oh lord.

I’ve never been late in this school. In my other ones I was every day!

And now it is 8:57 and I am seated in the cafeteria, typing this thing, and my daily puzzle has been finished. I guess I am a bit more awake now.

Oh, yes. Yesterday was my student of the month lunch. It gave a prestigious vibe and the presidents of the association prayed and then made each student represent himself or herself. I was not ready to talk in public and I blushed all the way through. The meal was delicious and I was given this sort of certificate and my teacher told me how proud she was of me.

(Now I am in my third class)

The other students had already paved the way for their future. One was going to study biochemistry, and the rest appeared to know what to do with their futures. They even knew their colleges or universities, I mean. I’m attending community college this year, but I don’t know to which university I’ll transfer to after that, in case I don’t get accepted to the one I apply for. Now, now. All in the right time.

Wait, I don’t even know exactly what I want to major in. Sure, I like writing, but I like watching films more than reading.

Now some time has passed and I am in my fifth class. Lunch begins in twelve minutes. The day so far is tiring, tedious, and I am surrounded by idiots. I am looking forward to drinking my cold chocolate milk and saltless food. God I hope to go to San Francisco later today. I’m in the mood for Peruvian food.

I never wear snickers in public. I hate wearing snickers unless it’s for exercise.

Now I am in my last period of the class. It is 12:35pm. In my last lesson my science teacher gave us a surprise quiz and I was quite vexed. We were all fortunate enough to be allowed a book to help us. I believe my answers were correct and was to last one to finish.

Now I am seated on my bed, my legs covered with my blanket, and I type this. It is 2:47pm. My mother is taking us to San Francisco, meaning I will have music relaxation time in the car. Which albums shall I take? God, I wish I could buy more T. Rex albums, but the store that actually has a section for them is almost an hour away. It is freezing at the moment.

I had to read an article about Henrietta Lacks. Very interesting. Very sad.

My mother thinks of her boyfriend as God. I still think he cheats on her.

I’m tired.

We’re about to leave. Goodbye and how I love you, how I love you, how I love you, how I love you, Friscooooo!

Concentration moooooooooooon……Over the camp in the valleeeeeeeeeey…..

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