Diaries are fickle. They brood in their own ficicality and ficklishness. I think I've completely abandoned the idea of an online diary. Abandoned all thought of it. Why am I updating? Well, certainly for my own purposes.
See, when I got this thing, I thought, YAY! I'll write all of my personal thoughts and secrets for the entire world to read! And now I realise that no one cares about my personal thoughts and secrets. Soooo everything I write is still normal, but for a totally different reason. I will use this diary to one day compile my memoires. Yes. And then maybe crazed fans of mine will read it and pretend to care, too! YAY!
Well. Yes. I'm nearly finished with Tess of the D'Urbervilles. It's a lot more interesting as a mental movie than a book. It can get pretty intense, actually, if you think the chivalry of Victorian courtship is intense. And it can be if it's a mental movie. Or a better book. See, it's a Hardy book, and everybody loves Hardy, 'cept for me, because I started reading Dickens when I was a lot younger, and loved how everything in his plots work together and tie up in the end, like a nice little sometimes funny sometimes very despairing little package. I, in my immense na´vetÚ, thought all Victorian writers were as wonderful as Dickens in that sense, but Lo and Behold! what is this? Hardy. His main characters have no luck. The only things that happen in his books are as follows: bad stuff happens, the character reflects on the bad stuff that happens, more bad stuff happens, the character reflects some more, and lots more bad stuff happens until the character is worn into nothingness by all the bad stuff that happens.
I guess it's a bit like real life. Only I don't want to read about real life, it's too depressing. So I read Oliver Twist instead, which, you know, isn't depressing at all.
See? No one cares! So, Friday I have to go to the library (NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!) to talk to my English teacher (NOOOOOOOOOO!!!) for reasons unknown to me. Then I'm going to check out some books (NOOOOOO... wait, YESSSSSSS!!!) and grab some brochures and break-neck it outta there. The public library doesn't like me.
Anyway, the day before yesterday, Monday I guess, I went over to my friend's house. She's having a July 3rd party (July 4th being the American Indepedence Day), and her parents hired a bunch of her friends (myself included) to play in a quartet-ish-thing at the party. So I went over to practise (painfully lugging my cello in a heavy downpour, worrying about warping the wood), and only one other girl showed up. That's two first violins and a cello. We tried playing Pirates of the Carribean, but I couldn't figure out where to come in in my soli because there were no violas or second violins. The viola forgot about it, and the second violin disappeared from the face of the earth! My poor Jennifer is gone, snivvle, and I don't know where! So, then we painted her house red, white and blue, and I dripped my paint everywhere because I'm like that. I put too much on canvasses, too, so why should a house be any different? But I could reach to the roof of the first story in some areas without a ladder. I was taller than the ladder, actually. That brightened my spirits.
*Stretches and yawns* Yep, 6'1" and lovin' it!
K, what else? Last night there was a very bad thunderstorm. It woke me up, which was fine because I was having a bizarre dream anyway. I think I was a milkmaid, milking cows in Victorian times. Only there were cars. And helicopters. But I was stuck milking the cow. I don't even know how to milk a cow, but I was. Those mental movies just keep following me around, don't they?