Friday, 01/07/05 - 3:32 pm.
You know how sometimes there's a situation that calls desperately for an "I told you", but you feel so bad for the person that you actually won't say it? I was in that situation last night. It was kind of funny, but more for me than for my niece.
She comes from school and tells me she has tons of homework to do (her teacher sucks, she makes them sing songs about pyramids and to teach them about the decimals she talks about a dog names "and"...just. What. The. Fuck?). Ans as the afternoon went by, though, she just kept hanging around the house.
Now, I didn't want to be annoying and bossy, so I only casually threw in our conversations "you should do your homework" once or twice. She kept making excuses, until she finally got around to work, at 8 o'clock.
So it was 11 pm and the girl still had five assignments to go. That was the time when I was biting my tongue to avoid saying "I told you". But yes, I actually felt sorry for her.
And this is where it got unfunny: I told her she could miss the bus, so that she'd have 20 more minutes in the morning to finish; I'd walk her to school. She said ok and went to bed, which is when I realized I was doomed. This time around I haven't had the need to get up early and check if the kids are ready for school and such...they can take care of themselves by now. Even my niece walks to school all by herself sometimes.
And so, you had me at 7:56 am, walking across the church parking lot (the shortcut), with her. My CD player was out of batteries, but I still wore the earphones, because (since I got my wish) it's really, really cold.
Ok, so it wasn't a funny story, really.
Speaking of stories, I am on a roll. I've written a lot these nights, before going to bed. Unfortunately, all things end up being deleted. I believe some of my ideas are good, but it seems I...let's say I lack of knowledge.
I actually started something. I figured that if I'm going to write something, it should be about -at least loosely based on- what I know. And with that in mind, I thought of writing about the transition from school to university.
Even if the story was mostly made up, it wasn't so far from my real experience. And for that matter, I could just take all the things I've written in this diary since I started it and publish it, only with a few style revisions. But I can't do that, because I talk about other people, and I say things about that people that they may not like.
Ok, being realistic, for instance, Denver would never read my book, so he'd probably never know about my reasons to cut. But either way, such confessions (like cutting myself) are too raw, and I'd hate for family and a few friends to have access to them (face it, they're the only ones who'll buy my books, in spite of my dad's optimism, "the book's doing great!"). I'd hate for anyone who knows me to read a paragraph about something like that and look at me: "is this what you did?".
Which is why I tried to stretch a few things in my story, to make it look fictional and people wouldn't go, "are you talking about yourself here?". But either way, it turned out too personal. And sadly, I believe, too boring.
My niece, she wants the computer. Yay, it's time for tragical misspelled preteen chit-chat on AIM. Excuse me, I need to get out.
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