That said, we'll now switch our focus to the trauma of the day. As if my high school experience had not been mortifying enough, less than three weeks before I'm done with all the bullshit they pull this award crap on me and make me want to fucking die. I went into the office to pick up what I assumed to be an innocent message and the fucking office bitch pulls out a certificate and some tacky ass trophy thing awarding me for academic excellence or some such bullshit. When I saw it, the first thing I said to the lady was, "Oh my god, can't you throw that away." Of course she was horribly offended. So I quickly followed that up with "Can't I leave it here and pick it up after school?" (Because then of course, I wouldn't have.) But she gave me the whole thing about how I had earned it and therefore would be forced to carry it through the halls in absolute shame and throw the thing in my locker. And the whole time, the thought of Megan and Bridget waiting right outside of the door for me was in the forefront of my mind. And I think when I walked out of the office, Megan said something to the effect of "It's okay, baby, you can put candy in it." But it's not okay. It's a sick form of humiliation and I hate the school administration for putting me through it. Erica asked if she could have it so she could show Brett, so it is thankfully no longer in my possession. Ruby and I discussed putting together a sort of thank you to the school for their lovely gift-- a series of pictures showing the many things such a fine award can be used for like:

*me smoking and ashing into it

*drinking hard liquor from it and then

*vomiting into the trophy

*pissing in the trophy

*trophy as a toliet brush holder

or better yet

*trophy used as a place to keep the vibrators

Or, as Ruby suggested, I can just send my ashes to the school in the trophy upon my death and cremation.

I fucking hate these people. And it's pretty obvious that they hate me.

I must stop eating candy. It will be the end of me. Candy is the greatest indicator of how little self-control I really have.

Bridget is also a pretty good indicator. I've been trying to hash the whole thing out for awhile and all that I ever come up with is that I don't want her in my realm. And when I say that, what I mean is that I don't want to hang out with her outside of school, I don't want to think about her when she's not in the immediate vicinity, and I sure as hell don't want her fucking with my heart. But . . .

I think about her a lot and I've considered asking her to hang out and I really wish that she'd say she's "ready." And I don't know why there's all of that. Because I don't want to be with her. There's not even a maybe-sortof-kindof thought in my head about the whole thing. So I can't explain why I'm still thinking about the maybes except that it's possible that I am so pathetically lonely that . . . I don't even fucking know.

I want her to leave town and I don't want her to talk to me again until I find a girl that's going to love me back.

Dad's on the brink of a breakdown because Mom has not returned from her meeting at the exact time that she had estimated. So that obviously means she's fucking the gym teacher.

I may kill the man . . .

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