December 9
Oh, another run-in with Mr. W. It wasn’t his fault, though. I think deep down he’s really insecure. I just found out that something happened in Mrs. C’s family - a death I suppose - and she won’t be in tomorrow. I hope we have a good substitute.
I got a 95% on a chapter quiz in Geometry - not bad, huh? Mrs. P said she was really proud of us in that play. I’m glad she was, because I wasn’t! Sometimes I feel so awkward and ugly and stupid, it’s awful!
December 9, 2022
So many exclamation points!!! And so many underlined words! The downside of keeping a diary as a teenager is that it works as a daily reminder of alternately boring and terrible your life is. Every now and then you sit on your bed in your pjs lamenting the limited space of the page, because it was such a great day and there’s no enough room to give it justice. But more often than not, it was a day like December 9, 1964, that included something in English class that was so upsetting that I couldn’t even describe it, a good mark on a quiz, and beneath it all, the smoldering shame of yesterday’s Julius Caesar fiasco.
I should add that whatever it was that happened in English class, it probably was Mr. W’s fault. He was a cranky, sarcastic, temperamental SOB who amused himself by going through girls’ handbags in front of the whole class and pretending to be embarrassed when he found tampons.