Oh god, diary. Oh god, oh god.
Okay. Okay okay okay okay. I got this. I think I got this.
Sure. I got this.
Augh, I'm sorry, diary. As my Kaggo records my every thought, it's kinda hard to stop my racing thoughts from making it into this diary. I'll probably edit this later, or just delete this post entirely. Whatever.
Anyway, so remember how I was talking about Valentine's Day last entry? Oh yeah, that entry. With that fake butt holiday that thinks it's just as good as the other, legitimate holidays. Like, oh yeah, Valentine's Day is just as important as like, the Fourth of July—which was the signing of something, I remember—or like flippin' New Year's.
Except, you know what?
It's not. It's so totally not. Valentine's Day is more bogus than people that try and tell me unicorns aren't real. It's like, okay, I remember that it had something to do with this one dude in Ireland who was a saint, and he'd like, marry people in private or something and then he lost his head. Or something. I don't really pay attention in History, but you already knew that. I mean, come on. Most of my diary entries come from me during History. It's just soooo boring!
Anyway. So Valentine's Day. Yes. Getting back on topic, because that's what I do best…
Back. On. Topic.
Because. This. Is. Definitely. Something. I. Want. To. Talk. About.
Just jab all day long about what happened on Valentine's Day. Best day ever, like always.
A freaking blast of a day. It couldn't have gotten any better than if unicorns had started falling out of the sky and maybe crushed me under their celestial awesomeness.
Just. Such. A. Cool. Day.
What, stalling? Don't be silly, imaginary audience in my head! Namely my conscious, of course. Darn you, conscious. I'll think I'll call you Scar, because you're a real freaking pain and it feels like you declare my kingliness to have a rather long existence whilst simultaneously letting me fall to my death in my own pit of despair that lies in the bottom of my mind.
Geez, I'm gonna have a lot of editing to do later in this Kaggo entry.
Okay, fine! I'll talk about it. You're really pushy, Scar. Augh.
So, despite my best attempts to get horribly sick before Valentine's Day, (I even went as far as to let this snotty little kid cough in my direction, which was uber gross), I was perfectly fine that Friday morning.
So I come into school, paranoid as I don't know what. I'm decked out in my loosest fitting pants that don't really qualify as sweatpants but don't also qualify as real pants, along with a nice big sweatshirt that has this big butt unicorn on the front of it. I put my hair up in a messy bun and wore my crappiest tennis shoes. It was raining outside, so now my mascara—the only makeup that I actually wear now, thanks to the many attempts of my mother—is running down my face so I look like a raccoon. I purposely wore all this crap so I would look as ugly as possible on Valentine's Day. My plan was that if I looked ugly enough, Peter wouldn't talk to me. I can only imagine that he'd be freaked out by my couldn't-care-less appearance and go stalk someone else.
Valentine's Day is a big day in high school. It's the only day of the year that you're allowed to show a ridiculous amount of public affection (aka lots of snogging in the hallways), carry around huge boxes of chocolates, stuffed teddy bears declaring their love, bundles of sour-smelling roses, and sometimes cakes in heart-shaped Tupperware. All of this evolves from the very simple but cruel world of elementary school Valentine's Day, which basically consists of being forced to decorate crappy little paper bags only to be forced to hand everyone in the class—even those that you hate—little Valentine's Day cards with cartoon characters and horrible, cheesy sayings on them. And those disgustingly chalky little candies with sayings stamped on them with CAPITAL LETTERS TO SHOW THE LOVE AND STUFF. Basically, it's just as much fun on Valentine's Day in elementary school as it is in high school.
Namely if you're me. Who has never had an actual Valentine ever on this horrid, horrid day. Bah humbug.
But this year, oh no, this is different. Because instead of chilling at school and maybe snacking on a small box of chocolate that I buy myself because of the low, low prices of Valentine's Day candy, I have a stalker and I'm wearing my crappiest clothes and I look like a freaking raccoon.
Happy gosh darn, unicorn-pooping Valentine's Day to me.
I'm completely aware of the inevitable conclusion that I would see Peter that day. I mean, we had History together. It was only a matter of time. Or well, until History started.
In the meantime, I'm that kid with my head either ducked super low studying something really interesting about the backside of my hand or hiding my head behind a gigantic heart shaped balloon bumbling its way behind a skipping girl.
Did I mention that I hate those skipping girls who think that everything's great and perfect and la-dee-dah and freaking sunshine and posies because she has someone who buys her a dollar balloon? I'm sure you can measure the amount of my disdain in a very orderly way.
By the way, that remains me of this upgrade package my mom bought me the other day for my Kaggo. She says it was on sale. So I'm not completely sure what it does, but she vaguely explained that it captures my emotions through my something or another cortex for every diary entry that I enter. So now when I go back to edit, I can see a percentage of what emotion I was feeling the most of in the diary entry. Isn't that nifty? I'm sure if I had it installed right now—it takes like five hours to download to the computer and Kaggo each—this diary entry would just be full of sarcasm and aggravation.
ANYWAY. So back to my original story.
So up until History, I was successful of avoiding Peter. Thank goodness.
But come History time, it was time to face the music. I got in some 'Eye of the Tiger' between classes on my PerSoul, thankfully. I'd like a new one, but my mom offered to let me borrow her old walkyman or whatever it's called. I love mine so much better though, even if it's a couple years old.
History comes, and I sit down in my most grubby looking position that I had worked on for weeks. Brittany comes skipping in and takes the seat beside me. And I swear to sweet baby unicorns, diary, this girl could not have looked more excited for Valentine's Day.
She was wearing her Richard love shirt, along with pink shorts and pink and red striped knee socks. Along with her pink tennis shoes, curly pigtails, and a comically intended pair of red, heart shaped glasses, Brittany looked like she had thrown herself into a Valentine's Day party store section. Clearance style.
She looks over at me and throws me a toothy grin then at Peter's seat, which he hadn't taken just yet.
'So are you excited for today?' Brittany gushed to me.
I gave her my signature 'are you kidding me look'. She didn't really seem to mind.
She goes on to talk about Richard and oh my goodness, how she loves him so much and did you know that blah blah blah she talks WAY too much.
I keep glancing over at Peter's seat to wait for the worst. The bell's about to ring in like, two seconds, and he's not there yet.
Oh sweet unicorns, was he not coming today? If only the great unicorns in the clouds loved me that much!
I glanced down at my notebook for a split second. My first mistake.
I look back up, and guess by the sweet heavens who is standing in front of my desk with a huge, creepy grin on his face?
Oh, you guessed it. It was Peter.
'Hi'. He said in the creepiest way imaginable.
I inhaled as loudly as I could, which was so sharp that I started a coughing fit. Once it settled down, I gave him a faint wave.
'I got this for you.' Peter said, presenting me with a little box of chocolates shaped like a heart. Sweet Jesus, there was a bear with huge pink eyes with scrawling letters spelling the most overused phrase in Valentine's Day history.
I felt this huge, disgusted wave come over me and my face. Snarl, check.
'Uh…thanks.' I managed without puking.
Peter set the box on my desk after he figured out that I wasn't gonna take it, and he slinked away.
I had to physically hold my head up to not slam it into the desk to destroy this monstrosity of chocolate.
Diary, this is just…ugh. This is a mess.
And it's such a mess—along with my room—that I must now go clean my room and stop thinking about this before I seriously puke. Can you believe this? I'm cleaning to feel better. It must've frozen over in unicorn heaven.
Anyway, I'll continue this in a little while after I locate the emotion software for my Kaggo. I think I saw it a few days ago trekking the swamp that is my bedroom floor.
Wish me luck,