Journal Number 4: More Cats

Yep. this is journal number four. I really, really liked cats. Like, a lot.

So onto the first entry in the SECOND cat journal.

November 20, 1995

Bethy!!

Oh my god!! Today was the best day of my life! I didn't have Spanish, Latin I had a test which I felt pretty good about. English was fun. Science was okay. Arts was Awesome! Growth Ed was, um, well, Growth Ed-ish. Math we played Jeopardy. Then I was out of school and GUESS what I did at lunch. I asked Derek to the senior-sixie dance. And he was SO COOL. He did a "victory run" around Gleason Hall. He danced around and joked around and said it totally made his day. I was SO touched. He is the coolest guy on earth!! How VERY exciting.

Also, I had almost no homework and to top it all off, 15 minutes ago, Patrick called. I was sooooo surprised. He sounded so cute. The only thing is, since it was getting sort of uncomfortable I said I was "kinda in the middle of something" and maybe it was my imagination but he sounded kinda mad/sad. So tomorrow Diana is gonna tell him how sorry I was but my mom and I were in a fight and she was screaming at me to get off the phone (not true but it sounds awesome). I felt SO bad though. He really did seem upset. Oh well. It's (hopefully) not anything big. It's probably not very important. I was thinking maybe it had to do with, like, he wanted to tell me something (like "I love you"-- I wish) and I didn't give him the chance. oops! That would be very bad. I would KILL myself if that was the case. I won't worry though. It was probably nothing. And if it was important, Diana will find out. from him and tell me. Maybe he hates me for being a dull conversationalist. DON'T WORRY COREY.

Maybe I don't care. I think I do. Am I supposed to be SURE about this kind of thing?

I like Derek-- but in a different way!! He rules!

Peace and Love,

Corey

A short and disturbing explanation about who Derek is and what the "senior-sixie" dance is. The Senior-Sixie dance (which i'm sure no longer exists) was an event at school where Seniors and Seventh graders go as dates and hang out together all night. Unfortunately, as seventh graders got more and more promiscuous, the okay-ness of this event went downhill and by the time I was a senior, I'm pretty sure it no longer existed. (or no one asked me, which I find impossible to believe. I was the only senior in the seventh-graders height range!)

So Derek, an eighteen-year-old senior becomes my number one interest for the rest of seventh grade, and he gives me more attention than my "boyfriend" ever did.

And, spoiler alert, Patrick dumps me a week after this journal entry. Which begs the question-- did he intend to dump me during this phone call? Or was that phone call his last attempt at having a real relationship with me, a test I obviously failed? Is it fucked up that I'm still kind of agonizing over this very question?

WHAT WAS THAT PHONE CALL? WHAT DID IT MEAN? Please weigh in on whether this was a last-ditch effort to save our "relationship" or if this was Patrick's failed first attempt to dump me. 28-year-old Corey is still dying to know.

Unexpected Wisdom

November 22.1993 continued

... You know how Piper's parents are divorced? Well she's always said she hated her step-mom but today she told me that she would like her if she wasn't her step-mom. I was amazed! 

Piper's parents were the only ones who were divorced in my circle of friends. Her experience was divorce was, therefore, representative of my entire understanding of divorce. Piper's step-mom was bad. she was a bitch. (I also never met her). And though blonde haired, athletic, vivacious Piper was not the most likely ten year old to have highly evolved thinking, in this case she proved to be more mature than any of us. 

I feel proud of her, reading this entry. And though certainly in reading this journal I will encounter many fights and mean words said between Piper and I, for just this moment, she's something of a role model. 

Even on my best days, I'm rarely so diplomatic and evolved. 

...plus i had a penchant for patchwork vests.

Not my proudest achievement. 

Only nine pages in to my journal, ten-year-old Corey had ranked her friends. Not JUST in terms of how much she likes them, but also in terms of how attractive they are. 

The friend list shifts over time to reflect the constantly changing relationships. DIFFERENT PEN COLORS correct the list. I have clearly gone to the trouble to change the list weeks, months later, so instead of staying a reflection of my friendships as they stood on October 27, 1993, they reflect the manically changing friendships of ten year old girls. 

In terms of attractiveness, I rate myself third most attractive in the entire fifth grade. This was not only generous, but delusional. With my  braces (complete with elastics in holiday appropriate colors... fabulously black and orange for Halloween) and oversized ears that were quite possibly large enough to actually weigh down my tiny head, I was probably not even in the top ten. 

But I have to respect the confidence. The journal was totally secret, and a place I was safe to own up to my insecurities. Happily, at ten, I wasn't yet objective. Presumably I felt pretty,  and that meant I must actually BE pretty. 

...where does that feeling of certainly vanish to in your twenties? 

The Kittie Journal

I would like to tell the story of how I got the kittie journal. I would like a touching memory of my mother and father handing me a diary and telling me to write my dreams and wishes in its private pages. I would like to think my first entry in my sixteen year relationship with diaries and journals started with the explanation of why and how I started keeping a diary. Instead, my first entry is a vivid, detailed account of my first major crush, Patrick (all names changed to protect the innocent. As well as my mortified ten year old self who would never forgive me.) 

Dear Bethany,

Today I'll talk about PATRICK.... When we worked on the newspaper he was always showing off and typing so fast that he made mistakes. Of course he's one of the smartest in the grade and AMAZING in math. 

Luckily, this first entry also reveals that Patrick liked me as "more than a friend"! Is there anything better than being ten and having the boy you like like you back? If I remember correctly my best friend, Diana, passed him a note in class asking him to check off his feelings for me putting them in the correct category. Diana and I spent the weekend creating this ingenious system, giving him options like "A. Ew, Corey's gross; B. She's my friend; C. She's more than a friend; D. I love Corey. 

All things considered, "more than a friend" was acceptable. My expectations were at least realistic when I was ten. I also apparently had the same desire to have clearly delineated emotions. There was very little room for ambivalence or confusion. My description of Patrick is exuberant without any angst or understanding of his faults. Even his typing mistakes were reason to love him more. 

At least Patrick was smart. And a red-head.