I believe that you’ve created a metaphorical universe in which you can express your darkest fears. In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves, and sometimes we do such a good job, we lose track of reality.
I make it through the first two weeks of school without a nuclear meltdown.
I am getting better at smiling when people expect it.
Nicole can do anything that involves a ball and whistle.
Homework is not an option. My bed is sending out serious nap rays. I can’t help myself. The fluffy pillows and warm comforter are more powerful than I am. I have no choice but to snuggle under the covers.
I just thought of a great theory that explains everything. When I went to that party, I was abducted by aliens. They have created a fake Earth and fake high school to study me and my reactions. This certainly explains cafeteria food.
Oppressive bastards, think they own the place. I told them that karma’s going to kick their asses...
I watch the Eruptions. Mount Dad, long dormant, now considered armed and dangerous. Mount Saint Mom, oozing lava, spitting flame. Warn the villagers to run into the sea.
I want to make a memorial for our turkey. Never has a bird been so tortured to provide such a lousy dinner.
Everybody told me to be a man. Nobody told me how.
Rumors are spread by jealous people.
I have entered high school with the wrong hair, the wrong clothes, the wrong attitude. And I don’t have anyone to sit with.
Can the plural possessive express the feelings in your heart? If you don’t learn art now, you will never learn to breathe!
My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my body slicing into pieces.
I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don’t want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.
Revision means throwing out the boring crap and making what’s left sound natural.
I wish I had cancer. I will burn in hell for that, but it’s true.
It is my first morning of high school. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache.
My first class is biology. I can’t find it and get my first demerit for wandering the hall. It is 8:50 in the morning. Only 699 days and 7 class periods until graduation.
I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don’t want to die.