Unwritten Pages

It's Sunday. My parents have left for work again. They'll be back in a few hours though—they don't have to work until midnight on Sundays.

But then I remind myself—they had a break on Thursday, the day of Winter's funeral. I'm pretty sure they have to work extra hours.

With nothing to do, I start reading the next entry. Now I kind of understand what it feels like to be so immersed in a book that you forget your surroundings.



Saturday is boring... I did nothing today... Ugh... I wish that I had, like...art classes today. But they don't start until next month. Same with the guitar lessons. So I just moped around in my room all day and drew some pictures and practised my instruments.

With an exception of food breaks and washroom breaks, of course.

So, just because I talked about the washroom, I'll write some things about my experiences when I say 'washroom'.

I went to the States a few years ago. I needed to go REALLY badly. Seriously, pee could have ran down my legs if I didn't go in a few seconds.

I said, “I need to go to the washroom, guys!”

My two cousins (they were both girls, by the way) exchanged looks and burst into laughter. Since I needed to go really bad, I ignored them and rushed to the washroom.

After I did my business, I went back to the living room and Lina and Kat were laughing so hard, you might have thought they were under some laughing spell.

“Um, guys?” I said, confusion clearly written on my face.

“The washroom! Ah ha ha!” Lina said and she wiped a tear away from her eyes. I frowned. Tears? She was laughing so hard that she was crying? What the heck was this?

So I was in seventh grade at the time and when people laughed at me—I usually had to find out what they were laughing about or I would be depressed for the rest of the day.

“What the heck are you laughing about? I needed to go to the washroom!” I exclaimed.

With the word 'washroom', Lina and Kat laughed even harder. Kat doubled over and fell off the couch. It would have been a funny sight if I wasn't so stressed with why they were laughing.

“'Washroom'!” Kat imitated before laughing some more. She clutched her stomach.

“Oh my gosh!” Lina said. “Stop making me laugh! My stomach's hurting!” She was still laughing and she ran out of the living room to control herself.

Kat continued to laugh. I knew they probably wouldn't say anything until they stopped laughing, so I sat on the couch and waited.

Lina came in a few seconds later, a bit calmer. But when she saw Kat, she started to laugh again and she ran out of the living room and stayed there this time.

Kat finally stopped laughing. She was heaving, her cheeks red.

“Okay,” I said. “What was so funny?”

“You said washroom,” Kat said, as if that explained everything. I frowned.

“She's Canadian!” Lina shouted from the kitchen.

“Oh,” Kat said. “Oh right. You wouldn't understand. It doesn't make sense to say washroom. It's a bathroom or a restroom.”

“Restroom?” I scowled. “Restroom? Like—do you sleep in there? Why is it called a restroom?”

“Because it just is! Why is it called a washroom? What do you do—wash yourself in there?”

“As a matter of fact,” I began, “you do. You wash your ass after you take a dump or you—”

My mom came in and heard me say 'ass'. My mom is the kind of person that won't tolerate any kind of swearing at all (I guess that's why I don't swear, unless I write it down). She washed my mouth with soap later on at night. Not pleasant.

Ugh. The soap taste...never going to swear in front of my mom ever again. Well, she cut the habit of me swearing. I don't swear anymore.

So yeah. That was the sad, sad story about washrooms/bathrooms/restrooms. Note to self—never say washroom while in the States. They will make fun of you and if you're asking for directions, they might even direct you to the laundromat if they think it's funny.

I would pee on their clothes in the laundromat if they did that and they had clothes in the laundromat.

Though I'm pretty sure I'll get in trouble...

Anyway: today was simple, I woke up, ate, practised playing my instruments, ate, drew pictures, went online, ate, shower, played more instruments, and wrote in my journal.

Ah...boring days will always be boring days...yawn.

I'm sleepy now. Yep, bye.

September 11th Morning

Good morning sunshine! Wow! I never thought I would write in the morning, but I did! I guess I woke up and felt like super woman today.

I was bored and I reread my first two entries in this twelfth grade journal... Wow...I sounded so...weird. Fake, almost. Well, maybe not fake, but like an airhead or a super excited girly girl.

TOO. MANY. EXCLAMATION. MARKS!

Girl, you gotta calm down.

It feels weird writing that because I'm basically saying that to myself. And I'm not writing a note to my future self. I'm writing something to my...past self (is that what you call it?).

So today I'm going to be home because...my parents won't let me go out yet. They said it's too early. I wanted to just go visit my friends. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hi mom.

Mom: Good morning.

Me: Can I hang out with Desiree?

Mom: Why? Why can't you stay home like yesterday?

Me: I don't want to. It's kind of boring. Plus—Desiree's house isn't too far from here.

Mom: She's busy.

Me: (Getting slightly exasperated) How do you know? You're not Desiree. And I kind of doubt that she would call to tell you that she's busy.

Mom: She's with her boyfriend.

And that was the end of the conversation. I didn't feel like talking back anymore. So I just gave a great sigh and left the living room. I came back upstairs and started to write in my journal.

So I guess I'm going to just do the same thing as I did yesterday. Which is...yeah. The boring things. I'll write about it later... Sigh... I wish I had the guts to sneak out...but then my mom might wash my mouth with soap again... (though I don't know why she would do that if I didn't swear)



Good night.

I'm tired.

Long story short—I tried to sneak out and now I'm grounded (it's not like I was allowed to go out anyways...) by my mom. I'm pretty mad. So I'll write about it tomorrow... Wait, tomorrow's school. Okay, whatever.

Good night and goodbye.

I close the book.

Good night and goodbye.

The phone rings instantly after I close the book. It begins to play Winter's Melody—sorry, 'Smile'. Before it can even get to a few lines, I pick up the phone.

“Hello?” I ask. I haven't checked the caller's ID, so I don't know who it is.

“Hi,” someone says. The voice sounds familiar.

“Who's this?” I ask, confused.

“It's me,” the voice says. There's a hint of amusement in the voice and I know they're making fun of me. I know it's a male from the deep voice. Maybe around my age or a bit older. Something about it puts me off. I think for a while—the only guy who's been recently putting me off is Drew.

“Drew Sorauren? How did you get my phone number?” Though I'm not sure if it's Drew.

It's not Drew, because the voice sounds startled. “Drew? Who the heck is Drew? Is that your new girlfriend?”

“Who are you?” I ask, irritated.

“You'll know. I'm coming back on the first of July. You better watch your back, bastard.”

With that, the line is cut. I'm confused. Who the heck is that? I don't remember pissing anyone off...

You better watch your back, bastard.