#9 There's a decorator in me

Oh helllllo there.

Didya hear?

Oh no?

Weeeell here's the news: I learned that there's this massive part of me that really needs to decorate. I've been going into all these stores and I can just envision my future bedroom-- it's making me fuckin crazy. I need a big bedroom to make it green and turquoise, YEAH, laugh now, you'll be so jealous when I post the pictures, you'll wanna come over and be all heeeyy, cool room, yeah neat colours, yeah let's hang and I'll be all shut the fuck up bitch it's my room. And then you'll cry and run away. AHA. lovely. fuck. I wanna do it bad. There's a decorator in me, itching to come out!

Oh look what I saw,

The Petro Canada in front of my house is surrounded by these trees, so pretty. They just scream summer to me and I can't help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I see them.

Speaking of warm and fuzzy. I wanted to show you something, so you can know me a little better.

In high school I would spend weeks in August decorating my binders and dividers for each individual class (I was a loser, ps) and I couldn't focus until they looked beautiful. Anyway, so I found them when I cleaned my room and was all, awww oh my gosssh. Then I realized I was a big loser and I punched myself in the face, no not really. But I had all these cool gel pens-- I'll pause so you can control your jealousy-- and gel markers--pause for a gasp-- aha, and I made these binders so beautiful.

My friend once showed me this. She's Filipino-- and you know those Asians, easily the nicest hand writing ever. So I wrote my name like this virtually every chance I got! haha, I still do it sometimes when I'm bored. Anyway, there was a point to all of this. While I was busy not paying attention in class because I had to decorate my binders, I was scoring these grades:

And incase you can't tell what they say, I'll read it aloud...93, 93, 93, 84. I mean really? Who the fuck gets those kinds of grade throughout high school only to bear with 60s/70s in university. Fuck. I hate university. It's destroying who I once was. And it isn't just because high school is a bright walk in fucking central park, but really, shit.

Whatever. One semester left and I'll tell you about my future. What future? What, who said that?