Literary Voyeur Club (now with MAGIC!)

I don't know why
but I really love
snooping in other people's journals.
I suppose you do, too
so let's start
some sort of club for us
literary
voyeurs.

He
still
loves me.
And He
still
wants me.
And no, I'm not being conceited.
I just know.

In other half-way related news,
I think I might be
magical
because sometimes I just make things
happen.
Like two days ago, I wanted it
to rain
so badly it hurt.
I checked the 10-day weather forecast, and it was
SUNNY, CLEAR, LIGHT WIND, NO CHANCE OF RAIN.
Needless to say, I was
very disappointed.
But today,
after pining terribly for at least a drizzle,
it
poured.
No lie. I amaze myself sometimes.
I remember this one time when
we got this new cat.
And I hated it
so
much.
I looked at it, straight in its ugly
cat eyes and said,
"Nina, you stupid cat, I hope you die."
It got hit by a car the next day.

I just kinda get what I want.
Creepy, eh, Snooper?

It's kind of like ebola.

Snooper, imagine this.
You have some sort of
incurable disease.
The only way to treat the symptoms
(you know, to make you feel better)
is to take this medicine that,
essentially,
makes this incurable disease even worse.
I have this incurable disease
and it's called
'being in love'
(god forgive me for this all being so cliche)
Either way.
I have this 'being in love' disease
and I've tried for the past
year
to make it go away, and I have decided
that it is rather
uncurable.
The only way to ease
the burning of my heart
(heart burn?)
is to (take tums?) surround myself
with
Troy.
He always makes things better
(most of the time)
and he's always there for me
(most of the time)
and I always love him
(all of the time).

But I know that if I did not
love him so
freaking
much
that I would
absolutely
hate
his
guts.

When he's not making me feel better,
he's making me feel worse,
and when he's not being there for me,
he's probably being there for someone else.
I'm cool with that though; a man has his priorities.
I just wish sometimes
that distance
didn't make a
difference
as to how much attention
I'm allowed.

He lives an hour and a half away from me.
Rather, I live an hour and a half away from him.
And it's hard.
But we both know it's worth it.
Eventually, we won't live so
far away
and maybe then, his second-nature
'out of sight, out of mind'
mentality will
vanish.

Barbie-pink

Today I
o1. fixed my television
o2. painted my nails Barbie-pink
o3. showered twice
o4. watched Scrubs
o5. helped with laundry
o6. yelled at Tori (my sister, who was
a hand-delivered present from Satan
himself)
o7. Did Tori's chores
and
o8. ate some ice.

Sundays are lame.
But not as lame as
not having any orange juice.

I told Patricia (the lady in charge around these parts,
aka Mom)
that we're out of juice. She replied with

"unnnghuhgn ugnnn ngngun."

Which I think translates from Sickness to English as:

"As soon as I'm done being too sick to live, I shall
rush to the store and buy some more orange juice, seeing
as how your life very well may depend on having this
sinfully delicious drink, my beautiful daughter."

Or maybe it means:

"Drink some milk instead."

Of course, she couldn't have said that
because as everyone knows, Snooper,
I'm
lactose intolerant.

I bet she said:

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to rest, and I swear if
you bug me one more time about that stupid juice,
I will make sure you never so much as look at juice
ever again. Do you understand?"

In hindsight, I probably
shouldn't have yelled, "Thanks Patricia! You're the greatest!"

One (Two, Three, Four)

I didn't go to sleep until
one in the morning, Snooper.
And I woke up
three hours later.
I haven't eaten anything solid in almost
seventy-two hours
because that's what I gave up for Lent.
Hundreds of kids ask me why (cause I'm not even Catholic)
It's a willpower thing. A test of my own faith in me.
Three people have confessed
that they're in love with me in the past
two months.
So life has obviously blown for me lately.
I'm no good with numbers. I made a
thirty-two in algebra
2 last year (thank god I don't have to take pre-cal).
They say bad things happen
three at a time. My boyfriend's friend moved
four hours away last week. Last night, a really good friend of my boyfriend
got in a car wreck.
One girl died.
Two other girls are in ICU (including his really good friend).
One guy is in police custody (I think) for vehicular manslaughter.
I'm no good with numbers.
But Snooper, I hope the third thing doesn't make me
one of one instead of
one of two.

Pretty much

So I have this boyfriend, right?
And he's pretty much
perfect
(for the most part).
And I pretty much
love him
(and I have for a long time).
And I pretty much
hate the fact that he happens to be
best frigging friends
with my
psychotic
ex-boyfriend
who happens to be very good friends with
my old best friend, who ruined our friendship
by telling me that
he didn't think of me as a little sister anymore
(In fact, he never had, according to him. He always knew,
just didn't want to say anything because he feared that
I would be creeped out.
Dingding, we have a winner).

My ex-boyfriend (Tom) is in love with me.
My old best friend (Ethan) is in love with me.
My boyfriend (Troy) is in love with me.
And this is definitely
quite the dilemma, seeing as how
I am only in love with my boyfriend (I hope).

Love is a strong word
and I am a weak girl
but I think know it's
pretty much worth the fight.

This is my diary.

My name is Rachel Drumm.
This is my diary (or at least, the closest I'm ever getting to one).
I guess it's not a
very secret one
because hello,
you're snooping right now. No one likes a snooper.
But whatever, Snooper, I guess you're okay for now.
I think you will be rather bored because
frankly,
I'm a
rather
boring
person.

I'm seventeen years old, I don't have my driver's license, I hate my teeth and I always carry Germ-X with me.
I can keep secrets really well,
but if a lot of people know, it's not a secret,
and I will tell everyone I see.
(You have been warned.)