My Mother

January 31, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

My mother has always been a worrier. About her looks, about dad, and Quincey, and me, and just about everyone. She rushes, likes to always be on time. But on her good side, she's very clever, lovely, excellent taste, kind, humouros [sic], and I love her dearly. XOXO

Today in school, one of the pop girls commented on how Martin and I looked cute together. Ba Humbug! I have no desire to 'go' with him, but only to remain good friends. (Or do I?)

Well, goodnight future, home work must be done.

*

People say that the earth has improved over the years. Not I. Though I would be content anywhere [little star]

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Mr. M. Romantic Dream

January 30, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

Last night I had yet another of my bazarre [sic] dreams (well, two).

It was first of a trauma between me, my mother, and my health (human sex ed.) teacher Mr. McKnight. (First, about Mr. M. He's average height, darkish brown hair, circle-rim glasses, short beard and m

ustache, pointy nose, and yes, small lips (!!!), plus, he wears baggy pants and shirts (sweaters, etc.), which are usually casual dark colors. He went to Europe for awhile, and adores medieval things, plus listens to good music, has very good taste, a soothing, deep voice, reads books that I love, magnificent artist, and single (I think,

though it wouldn't make a difference).

Back to my dream, sometime I was in the hospital or at home looking back, but long ago (real life), I had to go to the hospital (asthma). This may be how my dream developed. Anyway, in my dream, I had under gone many opperations in that visit, and was just finding this out from my mom. Either mom or myself told me that..

..one of my opperations [sic] was so serious that I had to have Mr. M (an undercover sergeon) come and preform something called 'Open Breast Surgery'.

Now the name says nothing, because the opper. had nothing to do with my blosoming breasts, but for some reason, Mr. M. wished to keep the fact that in this opp. secret (why? I don't know). Anyway, I assumed this was why he hadn't noticed (purposely?) me at all in class. The rest was about me being angery [sic] at my mom for holding this crutial info. back for so long. Now is this soap opera material or what?

My next dream was more on the romantic note.

I had been walking in Tacoma for a long time and didn't notice that I had walked into dangerous downtown at night. When I did, it struck me. All of a sudden I saw looming figures of street gangs and mobs glowing in the bright night lighting. They were sitting and standing on a street curb [and] on the corner I could make out the sharp slope of the street, I imediatly [sic] started saying "I don't have any money" ect. [sic], but in vain, for a group of boys about my age surrounded me and grapped [sic] my arms, dragging me down a street surrounded by rowan bushes (on Day Island).

Their barracks was a small ally [sic] type thing lined with brick walls. Gray furniture was by the walls, and in the wall indents I saw cute rats with red cones around their necks, eating out of food dishes.

Up-side down chairs were stacked on desks and tables. It was a very small, narrow place and felt light, gray and dreamish. I tried to escape, by giving one of the boys a sharp upper cut with my elbow. But also in vain. And there my dream ended.

In dreams like this I am never scarred [sic]. I know if I am sweet and true, I can bring out the good in anyone. Plus, the guys in my dream were ones from school, whom [of] some I liked.

So I acted feeble and feminine.

--

Women may not be the strongest sex, but we are the wisest and more advanced (in our minds that is). That is why we were chosen to bear children. We are much more responsible.

--

However some women aren't so wise, and some men are surely equl [sic] to the true women.

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Funny

January 29, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

I just walked into the kitchen and heard my parents laughing at some thing quite humorous to them. It was one of my assignments (vocab. sentences), on it I had written: Sir Berval never returned to jousting, after his hard lance blow. Now is that funny? My dad said it was Gary Larson weird. 'Spose it was the mood.

Lately I have been adding bits of stuff on Quincy (sort of) [to my diary] because I want his kids to know what he was like 'back then.' In general, all my stuff is geared towards 'me looking back on this when I'm older.' (or for others, also)

I'm sort of glad we are so far apart (sometimes). It makes it so when we do see each other, its all the more special.

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Sore Arm

January 27, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

My arm is very tired (Taylor holding, ping-pong) & I can't even clench my fist with out feeling pain. So good night, my friends.

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Calls

January 25, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

Yesterday Martin (School friend) called me and we had a pretty good talk. I found out what a caring kid he is. Our conversation started talking about Tricia, then it went into dreams, then teachers. But I was worried he might pop the question, 'will you go with me?' He didn't. Thank you Martin.

I also recieved a $10.00 gift certificate from Mrs. Gustav (Quincy's teacher) for designing a dinosaur color page for her class. Also, I think the $10.00 cer. is for my mom too (gift cer. was for Name Droppers, cool!!)

Gotta go. I write ya something else tonight.

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Illustrating

January 25, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

Today was good. Since this had been on my mind I will spit it out now. In class today, while Mrs. Erickson was reading the story of 'Redwall' to us I drew a picture of a tapestry hanging on the wall of a spiral staircase.

For [those of you who are familiar with] the books, that is not the main tapestry (before Clouney the Scorge snatched it) of Martin but another mystery of Redwall for Mathyess and friends to solve. The mystery itself has not revealed itself but someday will.

I also love small, hidden, mysterious places like that. I could be comfortable anywhere if I'm alone.

Well, another day has passed without you. But absence makes the heart stronger, my dear.

P.S. Many of the dates before this are really messed up.

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Religion

JANUARY 24, 1990

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Tricia is one of my good friends. Her beliefs, in my opinion, are too much like her father's. Like her religion: [she] doesn't go to church, but seems to rely alot on God, Jesus, etc. I'm not that religious, I think. Sometimes when I'm scared I say a prayer type thing. But it's not to anyone but myself.

I spose [sic] any god or what ever is there as an unreal leader for those who need one. But we are our own leaders, to some called God or Jesus.

P.S. This was not and insult.

Have you noticed how messy and careless writing has been? Yuck!

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Sarah's Male Requirements

JANUARY 22, 1990

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Nothing too horribly of emence praportion [sic sic] happened today, other than me graduating from D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Resistance Education) and passing yet another math unit, which I have been moping on for the last month. I also watched in my class for a boy with what I like (features).

Sarah's Male Requirements:

1. a friend & equal, not a strong hero type to protect me

2. clever, not a jock or male shovenist [sic]

3. looks usually don't matter, but: small lips, tall and lean, moustach [sic] & beard (when older), slightly long curly hair, or just anything that fits the fellow

4. any nationality (color, religion) but nothing really weird

there you have it

Sometimes I find myself enving [sic] others. I still do. All is for a good reason, Anne.

'Tis a windy and magic night. May all be revealed in dreams.

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Taking Things Too Seriously

JANUARY 21, 1990

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Rarely am I rushed or worried. Things that may bother others to me are considered 'a temporary stait [sic],' everchanging. I dislike rushing or taking things too seriously.

Sometimes I even scorn myself for falling into the silly pathway of practical and predictable path of Reality.

Instead [I] perfer [sic] my self-paced jaunt through the unpredictable and dreaded by some Forest of Fantasy and Dreams that borders the path. But, much to my dismay, when my mind is other occupied there I am on that horrid path again. Blast!!

I have found that a true soul never dies in vain or for a wrong cause, but always leaves on the best accounts. Always be yourself, My dear Anne

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Fight With Mom

JANUARY 20, 1990

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

I guess I wanted to end sounding triumphant and superior. But instead I ended like a fool.

"I hope your guilt remains with you," I scream, profanities and curses racing through my mind as I march up the stairs.

"Sarah, I don't feel any guilt." In the distance she screams.

"Well for God's sake I do!!" And with that, I race to my forsaken room, bursting ever more with tears of pure hate. Now I sit waiting for what may happen next. For it was only today that mom measured to see I had risen one more inch.

Happens much too fast. Anger pushes out 'you' and replaces with a stranger created by unstable mesh of stress. Anne, does this happen to you?

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Popularity

JANUARY 18, 1990

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

It never cicesses [sic] to amaze me how some people can live such a life of falsefronts [sic], lies, deceptions, betrayal, and much more.

Tis a dangerous trap known to most as 'popularity,' and unfortunately, I was once entangled in it.

To think that one must prove their so-called 'friendship' to another by rejecting or treating cruely [sic] is quite beyond me know (I think?). Now, those whom I put down, long ago, are now my friends. And when searching for new companians, I look for character content, not namebrands clothes & fashinable [sic] hair.

I could still use improving

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Dad's Idea

JANUARY 17, 1990 | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

My father (James) just told me about an idea of his. To go into bussiness [sic] with a good friend of his, Jim Green, designing children's playhouses.

Take hede [sic], my friend, the words below

They are the oars with which you row

To carry ye, toward the Sea of hopes and dreams 'come

reality

(cont )

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Portrait of Mrs. Dowell

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Finally, I have gotten to bed at a good time; 8:34. This day went fast, in school I talked to Mrs. Dauphin* (counselor) about Andrea. I hope things will work out.

My mother may be getting a full time job, if everything works out. In some ways I think it would be better for her to stay full time mom.

After school I had my first violin lesson (private) with Mrs. Dowell*. Mrs. Dowell is an average height, with curly, short, brown hair.

She has long violin fingers, that always smell of soap (that's good).

She always seems to be smiling and when she laughs seems to hyperventilate, but in a cheerful way. Her mood is usually good, and well-humored.

But when she is mad or serious (when playing music is mostly when, which she is incidentally very good at) you can usually tell.

Her brows will go up and down and her lips tighten up. I think she is wonderful, though sometimes she's flippy, and I am proud to be a student of hers.

Sweet & merry the sun does be when shining down on you & me then 'neath the moon & star so our world is that of "if", "maybe" & "might" bright a silly poem for my dearest Anne.

*Names changed.

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Beetlejuice Dream

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dreams Sometime at 10:09 pm

I am continually having this strange vision of being strapped onto a table in a bacement [sic] somewhere with lots of shelves. This place is dimly lit and I'm being sort of operated on by Beetlejuise (not cutting or blood shead) with some kind of magic.

Once I had a similar dream only the guy wasn't Beetlejuise and my mother was present. By the way Beet. was doing this because I had found out the secret for coming into his world (after life) and it was his punishment from Juno. (In my regular dream, the guy did this because I had swallowed a precious penny of his [little star]).

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On Stuffed Animals

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

I have finally gotten my bedroom looking O.K. From where I sit all of my neglected stuffed animals set at the foot of my bed. They look like posing for a picture.

I'm so easily made to feel guilty.

My mom used to have a frog stuffed animal with a yellow crown on his head. She had got him one birthday (even though she had hoped for a donkey one) and loved him to shackles. If you have ever read the Velveteen Rabbit you will understand what I just wrote. I think my mom still has Buggy and I always feel guilty when I think of the friendship with Buggy. Their love was very different from what I feel with my animals. They probably hate me. I'm sorry.

Anne, sometimes you may not seem to like your self, but I absolutely adore you for always.

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And It's Fun!

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Well, yet another day of so called life has passed oh too quickly before my eyes.

Our ping-pong (a definite Chinese word) table, risen by wonderful father figure, was welcomed into our gracious home today. I foresee many a hour spent being beaten (at Ping-Pong, of course) to death and sometimes, possibly (though it hasn't happened yet) triumphing there.

Quincy & I also brought forth a most intertaining [sic] sport into our ever-changing world. Though it has no name, it consists of standing on your head, with your head wedged between the folded (forbidden) futon cushion being the couch, while screaming, and kicking whoever is in a small radius of you, vigorously. And it's fun!! (?)

[little star] But on a heavier note, today I told my mother about what Tricia told me (see 1/9/90) about Andrea. Even though Tricia told me never to tell, my mom (and maybe me) will go talk to Mrs. Dauphin (school councilor), and keep it very confedentule [sic]. I dread what may happen to Andrea and me of any thing goes wrong.

I have been thinking about you, Anne. Maybe by the time you read this (P.S. this is not a suicide note) I may be dead. Just remember, absence makes the heart stronger, and I know we'll meet again.

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Beetlejuice Sandworm Fantasy

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Hesitating, I stopped with my arm half way through the wall.

'What could be on the other side?'

'It's probably just a dream.' My mind debated for a while, then I stepped in, 'Come on, we might be running out of time!'

Reaching in farther, I fumbled for a grip of some sort. Finding none, with a final glance around my familiar room, [I] flung dumbly through my now ante-matter bedroom wall.

Almost expecting to end up crashing into the stone wall outside, I was temporarily blinded by the sudden sunlight above.

'Oh lord, I've really done it now!', I thought as a great expance [sic] of land skape spred [sic sic] out be for me. I was standing on a desert-like place, almost untouched sand surrounded me as far as the eye could see. Only the unusually wheather [sic] worn stone seemed to break the boring monotony created by the sand.

These stones seemed really out of place here, having such strange shapes. Each one had a bright, bold different color, although their quirness [sic] fit in (though it may [be] the only way it fits in) with the wierd [sic] sensation you get. Then I remember my deduction of how these rock formations got here. Every time the Sand Worm took yet another life of a ghost,* where the murder acured [sic], a stone was formed, with the spirit of the spirit inabited [sic] there. Of corce [sic] this was only an idea that come[s] like my Dream Dead theary [sic], but I set out now, determinded [sic] to possibly seek consuling [sic] with one of the rocks.

(in final, don't forget to explain seeking the perfect lightly clouded blue sky, and seeing a side view of room (like in Beetlejuise, don't forget him either). Plus only sound was that of me breathing and boom of silence).

*There is only two known ways to kill a ghost: 1. To be exercised 2. To be eaten by a sand worm.

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Giant Ping Pong Table

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear future,

Today the pingpong table we ordered arrived.

A boy about my age was helping possibly his father deliver it.

And of course like any other girl my age (being at the time dressed only in my robe) I rushed upstairs to 'pretty' myself up. And when I returned downstairs he was gone.

Now the sole purpus [sic] of me writing this was to acknowledge that he was one of the people I really noticed. Hopefully if he ever reads this he may remember seeing a girl in a white robe running shyly up her stairs as he delivered a giant ping-pong table to [our house] 13/1/90.

By the way..... (cont.)

My family & I watched "Say Anything" today. The girl Diane in it reminded me alot of me. And the main man (was Keymaster) really reminded me of a Pre-K kid at UPE (my school). His name is Anthony and he is tough, has barely drooping cheeks, keeps a serious face always, and talks alot! Really resembles him!

Oh Well.

My Anne, never do what they say, for your heart knows what's right.

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Swamped

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

I haven't been writing lately because I [am] totally swamped (or lazy?). But nothing really exciting had happened.

Andrea has been so busy with Monica she hasn't had time for us. I got a new violin, just like my old one but a tad bigger. I'll be starting private violin lessons with my teacher (string class) Mrs. Dowell and I might have a possible baby-sitting job with Mrs. Dowell's 8-month old baby, Beverly.

This was all much thanks to Mom but sometimes I feel like she's helping me too much. Though I do appreciate it.

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A Splitting

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

I'm sorry but tonight I have a splitting (I think from spinning too much) so I'm retiring early (9:25). HA HA!

I love you, Anne

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Burn

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Today, at recess in the girls' bathroom Tricia told me something Andrea told her.

She said that Andrea's parents phisically [sic] abuse her and her sister Penny. Then Tricia asked me to sware [sic] never to tell. Now I am mad at her for dragging me in.

I sort of suspected something when Penny came to school with a cigarette-type burn on her cheek. What baffles me is that Andrea came right out and showed us Penny's burn. Instead of maybe hiding it.

Back then I felt much more consurned [sic] for Andrea too, but I don't feel it now. Is my body trying to tell me 'don't worry, everything will work out.' But I don't know. I'm not sure what to do. [many question marks, 'worried,' 'confused,' 'unsure,' and a sad face]

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Agreed Entirely

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

This weekend I felt 'free.' Probably because I had no homework. Saturday, while Quincy was at Joey's, Mom, Dad, & I went to Seattle where we waited in line for about 45 hrs., in probably the most awesome mall I ever saw.

Finally we bought the tickets we had been waiting for and procided [sic] to a spectacular exhibit on Frank Lloyd Wright, a brilliant architect. He designed houses and buildings that agreed entirely with nature.

Afterward seeing a duplicate of a house he did. For the finalli [sic], we ate dinner at the bustling Beeliner Diner. We also had to wait there, but it was worth it.

Today we just stayed home. I created a really neat Sylvanian (animals) town. Consisting of a hospital, general store/inns, and a one room school. Plus two houses. I can't wait to play with it with someone.

I think that you are the one I long to play with, Anne.

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La Grande Dreams

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Quite frequently in my dreams I go back to my old home in La Grande, Or. There, even if I have never seen it before, it is familiar.

I can't really feel pain, but I imagine I do. Usually in this type of dream the only time I really feel pain is when walking outside. There are always brambles and thorns. I am always barefoot.

Instead of pain, I get another udiscibable [sic] sensation. It sort of feels like, simply, something is on my feet. But in my dreams, that is pain.

There is a woman I see a lot in La Grande dreams. Like many other things though I have never seen her before she is familiar. This woman usually apears [sic] when I am walking the tiny strip, between (what's in real life) where Mable, our kind-hearted neighbor, lived.

In tonight's dream, behind the house I met a woman somehow called 'Mrs. Hen.' And like always, she had a shovel and spade in her hand. She was largely built, and somehow familiar. She came over to the fence and began talking. It still confuses me how I know all this stuff that I've never seen before?

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Dough Mind

January 6, 1990 | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

Some may think I need to widen my horizons. Maybe, they think, by entering some of my work in contests. But I think, me [sic] dough (mind) needs more kneading before I can really begin to role [sic] it, then bake.

And some have maybe began their rolling before their knead. Or maybe they were already 'soft-doughed.'

Thine dearest lady, a maiden of pure and true beauty within.

For your mystic magic has enthralled and enchanted me. I love you forever, Anne

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Flash and Blank

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Another boring Friday. School as usual. Tammie asked me why Tricia hated her.

Sometimes Tricia can really be a pain (I still wish I felt different about her).

At home, for the first time I baby-sitted Taylor (Jerry & Tina's baby; those two are such a cute couple) for 4 hours. Earning $4.50. Hopefully I empressed [sic] them & they'll want me to watch Taylor again. He's really sweet.

And now I just finished watching a movie. Within a 50's pointed ramshackel [sic] cafe true and pure magic acures [sic].

All I remember from my first babysitting job (today) will forever be: posed on an old arm chair with an uncomfortable looking baby with a pudgy double chin & dimples on his hands, lost in his sweet baby dreams.

While I hear the familiar soft music of a choir & organ in the backround [sic] play his part in a monotonous melody that had ingulfed [sic] me. I see with my eyes and mind the glair [sic] of the sauserlike [sic] light hanging menacingly, glairing [sic], the way it all seems when waking in the early night after napping.

All that moves is flash and blank of a mantle-piese [sic] clock. With its everchanging pedestal and glass covering. All I feel it the inocent twich [sic sic] of a dreaming baby, then my tender finger drawing forever eight on his soft and precious paw. Or am I drawing an infinity? [infinity symbol]

? What does a baby think ?
&
? Is this what child raising is all about ?

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Long Ago in Sweden

January 3, 1990 | Tacoma | Age 12

Dear Diary,

-Notes-

Once, long ago in Sweden, there lived [a] small family of six. A hearty boy of twelve, his two mischevous [sic] brothers, the willing, cheerful Miss Goodfran, Emily, and their mother, Marla. But that is only five, the sixth was a sprite young fillie [sic] called Telly.

They were a joyfull [sic] band, living solely on the meager money earned in the old stone dairy.

Built by the sweat and blood of good Mr. Goodfran, before his building took his life.

Telly always hated that place. Where her loving master spent many a hour making the matches his family lived on. And where real master had died.

But last, in secret, a old browny named Nicholas lived in the dairy. Crafty as he was, an old spell was cast on old Nicholas. Forbidding him to ever leave the dairy, unless his body was killed by and with his prison (the dairy).

That unfortunately was how Mr. Goodfran died. He knew even though the brownie promised him many riches, that Nicholas would only harm, if set free. So Nicholas in pure hatred, killed the old farmer. Swearing to be freed some day. Of course Mrs. Goodfran assumed that her husband died of some accident conserning [sic] the dangerous machinery he worked with. So no one questioned [him] and so it was. The identity of the murderer was still unknown. Nor of the fact that it was a murder.

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Male-Chauvinist

January 3, 1990 | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

Well, we just finished watching 'Roger Rabbit' (on video, & its mine!!) downstairs.

Right now I am writing with my new pen (from the O'Briens) on my lap desk (from the Bauers), in my heavenly new birthday sheets (from my Grandma). Now I am on the floor, my mom is tucking in the sheets. Sometimes I feel like I [am] slaving her, I mean she does so much for me. I really love her.

Today also was the first day of teaching (a class full time) for our new teacher, Mrs. Simmons. She's really nice but some of the kids aren't giving her a chance. Guess its cool to dislike the new teacher? I like her.

Sometimes I think Kevin (this boy in my my class) is like hitting on me or something. Personally, I think he wants a girlfriend or someone to 'go' with, just so he can say to his jockey friends: "Sure, I'm going with someone."

He's concieted [sic], a male-shovenist [sic], and all around jerk. But why do I feel bad writing this about him? I'll probably not be able to sleep. Sorry Kevin.

Sarah 'feeling guilty' Hoopes

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Too Straight

Diary | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

Today, I have to admit, was fun. Even school.

In school: poor Andrea lost her glove and I felt jealous of Andrea for having so much fun with Tricia, Tammie was a pain (I wish I felt different about her).

I enjoyed sitting by Joyce today (usually she talks to much).

Tricia and I wrote dirty notes to each other amazing Veronica who thought I was too straight and once again I sweared [sic] under my breath about 7 times (I know I'm just a kid, but it sounds grownup, Ok, ok, I'll stop!!).

And I just heard a distant, unfamiliar voice say something like: "Uuray", maybe its a ghoast [sic]. I don't know.

Well, good night.

Oh, and: "Good night, good night, dearest Anne. May we meet in our dreams" (said while gazing in to 'Arctic Fox' in ball (a different approch?).

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Monarching the Boys

January 2, 1990 | Age 12 | Tacoma

Dear Diary,

It's my birthday!! (I won't be going into great detail 'cause its a school night [sad face]).

Well I spent it mostly playing Barbies with Michelle (and monarching the boys). My magnificent mom made me delicious waffles w/ grandma's raspberry jam. Mmmm!!

And for supper I had heavenly hash browns, toast, & scrambled eggs.

My presents consisted of a beautiful copy of 'Secret Garden', Roger Rabbit (Yesss!!), a totally cool Alarm Clock/Radio, a paint stamp pad, two rollers, a magical calendar, sheets that are perfect, Noriega almost to justice, and the Berlin Wall crumbled history. And one year older on minute more meditation.

What else could I ask for?!?!

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