About A Girl

Monday

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I always thought writing in a journal was a bit unnecessary. Well, for me at least. I always tried starting one before, but then I get bored and uninterested a few days later. The only reason I'm writing in this one now is because my therapist, Miranda, recommended it, having to deal with stress or something like that. Apparently I have to write in it at least once every few days. It doesn't matter how long or short the passage is, just as long as I get something down, so here I am.

Tomorrow is the first day back to school from Christmas break, and I can surely tell you that I'm definitely not ready to go back at all. I've spent the last two weeks staying up all night and falling asleep at five in the morning, causing me to fall back asleep and wake up again at about twelve or one in the afternoon. Miranda claims it isn't good for my health, but honestly what's not these days?

"Be more productive. Try something new," she says. So because of her I'm planning on trying out for the something this new semester. Maybe not, most likely I won't because I have the worst social anxiety, but it's at least worth a shot. I probably won't get the spot for anything, which would be a huge relief, but it'll still mean I tried out, so that'll count when Miranda asks if I participated.

For some reason, the second semester at my school is always more difficult than the first, so teachers and staff always inform us to try our hardest to succeed, even going as far as to having the creativity department make these really cheesy posters then have them place bunches all around school for encouragement. Not that it helps much.

It never bothers me because I get good grades, so I don't fret, but it's pretty funny seeing everyone else worry and panic when the term is coming to an end and they have to turn in all their missing work before it's over. I never understand why people do that though. Not do their work and everything they're supposed to do at the right time and act as if they don't care, but then get upset when they see that they're failing. I just don't get it. Oh well.

Usually I like to pick out my outfits beforehand so if I wake up late the next morning, I wouldn't have to waste time on looking for clothes, but tonight I'm exhausted. My mom showcased one her pieces at the art exhibit today, and she practically forced me to come. I didn't even have to, of course, but she claims I could be good use to attract a crowd to her work. I had to stand for a good three hours, but it did help people come forward, so I guess it was for a good reason.

Afterwards, she had an hour long meeting with her manager, while I had to pack up all her things and place them in the car, and then proceed to wait for her while they continuously babbled on about "precision" and "creativity" or whatever artists talk about, I don't really know. We finally came home at a little after nine.

I'm never tired that early, but tagging along with mom while she does her business is truly one of the most tiring things I'll ever have to face in my life. For dinner, I managed to consume some leftover Chinese from last night, while she prepared herself one of her famous exotic gourmet dishes, which I never eat with her, I mean, unless I want food poisoning.

"You know, honey, I'd really appreciate if you'd taste at least some of my cooking for once," she says to me in her thick English accent. Mom was born in Manchester, but moved to California when she was just eighteen to, in her exact words, "pursue her undeniable artistic ability," as she dramatically puts it.

She met my dad a year later, and they had me a while after. Something or the other happened between them (she refuses to tell me what, exactly), and 17 years later, here we are. All I know is that his name is Frank, and he's a journalist.

I've never really minded not having a father in my life, it hasn't ever bothered me, but sometimes I feel left out. I mean of course I realize that a lot of kids don't have both parents present in their lives, but still.

Mom works as an artist, painting and sculpting all sorts of things that her mind comes up with. At times she has to travel to other countries to display some of her pieces, leaving me behind at home by myself. Not that I'm complaining, really. It's nice not having any adult supervision around.

Although I do admit that sometimes I get a bit lonely. Being an only child and all, it's sometimes not as fun as anyone may think, but at least I still have my dog, Max. He's literally the greatest dog on Earth, no exaggeration there. He's small and chubby, but that's what makes him so adorable. I love him so much.

Well I guess I should end it here. I've got nothing else to write about so this is a good place to stop. It's currently a little after eleven, so I should probably go to bed right about now, even though I'll just be on my phone until later or something anyway. Goodnight :)