Ah, yet another excerpt from my frenzied roller-coaster journal from my junior year in high school. My unrequited love for David was slowly blossoming. It didn’t hit its height until February or March of the next year … but it’s beginning here, in December. I ache, I throb, I pine!
DECEMBER
What a long pleasant day this has been. [What are you, 45 years old with the “pleasant”??] I worked from 9 to 1 but it’s always slow in the mornings [I worked at the nearby public library, you can see photos of it here] so I didn’t have to go tearing around. J. worked from 12 to 5 so we got to work an hour with each other. Charlotte left for lunch and the library was empty except for us, so we sat at the desk slipping books and talking about BOYS. How to handle that mysterious race. [I have learned, through long years of experience, that “boys” are actually another GENDER, not another race. But ah, I am young here. And a lunatic.] You know, I honestly don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I don’t do anything. [And that right there is the issue, girl] How long do you suppose is reasonable time for me to wait? I’m sick of waiting and I feel like I ought to be doing something about it – but what? [The question still remains] I can’t just stand up and scream, “HEY GUYS! LOOK! IT’S TRUE! I AM AVAILABLE!” (Hmm – that’s a thought.) I walk around now with a perpetual ache inside. It hurts so bad. It’s not a sharp piercing pain but a grinding away that makes me want to moan and flop on the floor. [Good Lord!!] In spite of this though, life seems incredibly wonderful to me.
Yesterday I was walking home alone from the library at 5. It’s already dark by then with just a slight whisper of sunset on the horizon. It was chilly and dark, the street lamps were on and I, with my bookbag and mittens on, was walking home. I love that part of the day. I was on South Road alone, but I felt very secure. When I’m alone – never ever am I lonely. My imagination is so great that people who really aren’t there can suddenly materialize beside me [this is still true] and suddenly, I felt that David was walking along with me, our mittened hands clasped – I could even hear our soft serious conversation but I couldn’t make out the words. But it became so real to me. It’s a bad habit. I always feel like the world is a big awful terrible thick fog when I stop pretending and get home – if it were only real! If it were only real!
I think, though, that if it were real I couldn’t put it down here right. I’d screw it up trying to find the right words. I have enough trouble just trying to relay gym class.
The sky today honestly took my breath away. I had to stop and just stare. Mum, Jean, Siobhan and I all ran out to the car for the 5 o’clock mass. Just as I opened the front door, I looked up. Glowing through the dark silhouette of trees – oh the skies – it was a muted rose, very gentle and whispery, as though someone had lightly brushed with a paint brush – the pink slowly melted into lavendar which then spread all out into a silvery deep blue. For once the twilight sky was really a very mysterious blue, and the moon just softly shone. I just stood outside the car looking. I felt so achey inside.
Then in church – I love our church and I love being a Catholic. Father Creedon is a wonderful man. I really love him. Anyway, usually when we sing the Our Father song – the entire congregation joins hands – people spread out across the aisle- Oh, I feel positively uplifted sometimes, singing, holding hands – the warmth of strangers [Yes. I am a 16 year old Blanche Dubois]. But tonight, in accordance with Advent, Father Creedon said, “I am going to ask you to do something during the singing of the Our Father which will feel rather uncomfortable. At Christ the King, we hold hands during it – but tonight we will not.” Then the familiar beautiful music started and all of us were singing – but it felt so weird. I can’t really explain it – but I missed it – it was awkward just standing there singing – without holding hands. But – involuntarily I felt my head lift up, my hands came out of my pockets – and I could feel my voice just flowing out of me – I felt as though just standing there wasn’t near enough. I just wish I had wings. Walking on two feet is so commonplace especially especially when your head is in the sunset. [Oh, for God’s SAKE!]
You know what? [Get ready for no segue] I can’t go on pretending anymore. When I was in like 7th or 8th grade, I lived in a dream world. I came home from school, went to my room, talked to myself and Andrew in my head for hours. Then – that was enough. That made me feel happy. But not anymore. Suddenly pretending isn’t enough. It’s all fine but –
Oh GOD I need so much more!!!!
Glowing through the dark silhouette of trees – oh the skies – it was a muted rose, very gentle and whispery, as though someone had lightly brushed with a paint brush – the pink slowly melted into lavendar which then spread all out into a silvery deep blue. For once the twilight sky was really a very mysterious blue, and the moon just softly shone.
That’s some mighty powerful imagery there, girl (He said in a western accent… don’t know why I’m talking that way, maybe because I just came from “Confessions of a Pioneer Woman”)
Sheila – I think it is so cool that you kept your diaries. And now, looking back from the then-future, you can make running editorial comments that I find both touching and hilarious.
We still hold hands during the “Our Father”. Even if we are speaking it. Sometimes not across the aisles, but always, there is some form of hand holding. A throw-back to the ’80’s I suppose.
Diary Friday is consistantly the best stuff you post. And I love all you post. But there is something so wonderful about 16 year old Sheila. She’s trying so hard at life and at expressing her inner most deepest 16 year old feelings. Teachers must have adored her in class. MTV should do a Diary Friday series. All age groups would love it. It would be retro but still topical. I still wonder what she would have thought if she could have some how been told that the diaries were one day going to be posted in a place called cyberspace!
Susan – thanks! Glad you enjoy. They’re a lot of fun (and sometimes anguishing to do) And you mention that “what would young Sheila think” a lot. I never ever go down that path. Too dangerous. Not even something I like to look at. Best to just stand where I’m at, and look back on my younger self with compassion and humor. I am VERY uncomfortable with that other line of questioning.