The following entry is from my junior year of high school. It is intensely embarrassing for me to pass this on, but obviously I revel in self-mortification. It’s ridiculous. Everything is SO DRAMATIC. I talk as though my crushes on guys were literally life and death. I fly up to the heavens when he asks to borrow my pencil, I plummet into the depths when he doesn’t say Hi as he walks by my locker. From day one of my junior year, I was passionately in love (from afar – sort of) with a guy named David Worthen. I SAY HIS NAME PROUDLY. He was in my French class, and my gym class, he was a year ahead of me, he played the saxophone, I thought he was the sexiest person who had ever lived. We were friends – of a sort. The entire year was an AGONY of awareness of him.<\/p>\n
I finally asked him to go to my Prom. He turned me down, saying, “I don’t think we know each other well enough.”<\/p>\n
That was the worst blow.<\/p>\n
Not know each other well enough<\/i>??? How could he have missed our soulful and spiritual intimacy throughout the entire year? The unspoken novels of conversation going on between us??<\/p>\n
I was 16, but my emotional life was like Emily Bronte’s.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Got my school pictures. I look like Miss Valley Girl USA. The photo’s not bad, though, even though I pretended I hated it. True, it looks as though not one thought has ever passed through my brain. But it’s not bad, just the same. My beets are unusually beet-y! [<i>Ed: This is in reference to my red cheeks. I referred to them as “my beets<\/i>“.]<\/p>\n
Got some of my grades aujourdhui. B in Chemistry and History, C in Math. I was so relieved. I couldn’t sleep for a while, thinking I was going to fail. Oh, to fail.<\/u> [Ed: ha ha ha So Shakespearean<\/i>. ] I have no idea what I’m getting in English. I hate that class<\/u> – and French probably a B. Maybe an A. Hope hope hope!!!<\/p>\n
Oooooh! Tomorrow’s Tuesday. And<\/u> Friday we have no school cause of Veteran’s Day and there’s a parade and the band will be playing!! YIPPEE!! [Ed: Someone we know, the sexiest person on the planet, was a saxophone player. Hence, my excitement for the parade. It’s not like I was a simpleton or anything, randomly thrilled for parades and Oom-pah-pah. There was a method to my madness.<\/i>.]<\/p>\n
Today in French – actually, today was a pretty bad day. Nothing happened. [Ed: Meaning I had no contact with David Worthen<\/i>.] Nothing seemed to go my way. I just — I feel down about everything. David — school — everything. I felt very blah, no energy. I sat in French, occasionally letting a huge sigh out. Ohhhhh. He sits behind me. I am dying ….. [Ed: Oh, for God’s sake.]<\/i><\/p>\n
J. keeps saying, “Okay, you’re going to ask him to the dance tomorrow.”<\/p>\n
RIGHT. Why am I so afraid? I think of him, and I just – I feel all weird inside. Can I explain it? All shivery – sort of. You know? Oh. My. God. [Ed: If you saw a picture of this boy, you might wonder how I could have found him “the sexiest”. He wore glasses, he was gangly, thin, a “band geek” – but to me he was beautiful. He actually was beautiful, in retrospect<\/i>.]<\/p>\n
After French, we were all slowly walking out, picking up our corrected quizzes on the way. I guess, unconsciously, I looked quite the glum. [Ed: Heh heh. I am sure it was QUITE conscious, actually!]<\/i> Inside, I felt so blue. I was on my way to Math, and then English – gag choke wheeze –<\/p>\n
And with my blessed peripheral vision, I saw Dave – who was sort of in back of me – and I saw him sort of watch me shuffle by. I saw him glance once at me, and then look closer. I guess it’s all right that I looked glum. No, but he said, “Smile, Sheila!”<\/p>\n
Then – oh, I am so suave – I grinned and said, “Believe me, man, I am trying!”<\/p>\n
Now, Diary, here’s the deal. He saw the look on my face and he said something.<\/u> [Ed: Wow. He saw the look on your face and he said something. Must mean he’s madly in love<\/i>.] He was reaching out! Why would he do that?? [Ed: Er – cause he’s nice??]<\/i><\/p>\n
I don’t know. Love is not fun. It hurts. It hurts!!! Why is this happening to me?<\/p>\n
I remember all this summer I was thinking, “God, it feels so weird not to like anyone.” But I was glad in a way. John really hurt me [Ed: HA! I had, no lie, 3 conversations with this “John” – and it was enough to make me have a crush on him for 6 months<\/i>.]<\/p>\n
I know all of this sounds very melodramatic, coming from a junior in high school – but it did take me a long time to get over him. Everything has been so topsy turvy lately. Occasionally I have John relapses – like during that day of the cast list. But now – I don’t even care if JW ever falls in love wiht me. I am over him in that way. I still have a ‘crush’ but I completely don’t care anymore.<\/p>\n
I want Dave now. [Ed: Uh-oh. Look out<\/i>.] I DO.<\/p>\n
He always seems to choose to walk with me, talk with me. He’s always hovering. And – that’s not his normal personality. I hated him last year. I thought he was a f***ing snob. He never says Hi, he’s not like that. It’s not like him to reach out and say, “Smile, Sheila.”<\/p>\n
But still. I could never ask him to the dance.<\/p>\n
Why are other girls so fearless about guys? I swear – honest to God – guys paralyze me<\/u>. Well, that’s not totally true. Not all<\/u> guys. Just ones I like. They really do paralyze me. Not guys like Trav or Brian or Mike – or even Dave – cause so far, I am just Dave’s friend. His pal.<\/p>\n
I AM EVERY SINGLE GUY’S STUPID PAL.<\/p>\n
The minute I think about romance with Dave, I just freeze. I couldn’t<\/u> just go up and risk everything and ask him to the dance. I couldn’s just say, in a pal-like way, “Hey, would you like to go with me?” I want to ask him, but God, I just wish that he<\/u> would ask me<\/u>. [Ed: Story of my freakin’ life<\/i>!] I’ve never been asked by anyone. I’ve asked plenty<\/u>. And I’ve had enough. [Ed: Uh oh<\/i>.] For once, I want someone to like me first<\/u>, and make the first move. Well, not just “like” me, of course, but like me enough to want to do<\/u> something about it.<\/p>\n
Oh, Dave!! Thinking about him makes me want to have an orgasm. [Ed: Holy moly. Lucky Dave<\/i>.]<\/p>\n
No. Forget about that. That’s stupid.<\/p>\n
Today in French, Mr. Hodge was saying, “That’s one difference between the French and the Americans. The French aren’t so afraid of touch – kissing on both cheeks, things like that. The Americans can be afraid of touching.”<\/p>\n
I murmured to J., “I’m not.” And we both rolled off into GALES of laughter.<\/p>\n
I like him more every time I see him. Isn’t that just AWFUL?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The following entry is from my junior year of high school. It is intensely embarrassing for me to pass this on, but obviously I revel in self-mortification. It’s ridiculous. Everything is SO DRAMATIC. I talk as though my crushes on … Continue reading