I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
Yesterday was a good day.
Boy picked me up in the morning and drove me to our park, where he let me lie in his arms under the sun for the most part of the morning and early afternoon.
Just before our lecture, he took me to a toasty little beachfront cafe and ordered me a "nice lunch" (a $15 chicken and avocado burger), and we sat on the little two seater tables outside sipping freshly squeezed orange juice and watching the counter guy clean up a cracked bottle of tomato sauce that someone had toppled off the table next to ours (all the while muttering "I hate tomato sauce, I don't even eat this shit!" I couldn't help but laugh at him...) and later, when they were served, devouring our way through the monstrous burgers.
I was feeling very spoilt. And very loved. Needed after the night before whence I had spent hours getting upset at both myself and him, and crying over something that was effectively nothing.
Later in the evening, when we arrived home there was Teriyaki chicken for dinner, and watching television in his arms. It was nice.
(I didn't do enough study.)
Everything was nice. I spent the entire day virtually in his arms. It felt like I had just met him, like we had just started going out.
Today was our seven month anniversary.
Today was also my mother's birthday.
The Bad Day Sign:
I thought both these things were on Wednesday.
The Consequences:
I was not prepared for either. On the way home from university, we stopped at a small florist and I bought my mother some miniature orange and white roses, and helped Boy pick out a yellow flowering pot plant. I had the full intention of making dinner, but when we got home, my mother already had a roast in the oven (and smoke everywhere in the house)... which was a very good thing, because secretly, I didn't know if I would be able to handle the extra stress.
University had been bad. Very bad.
There was a stats test. (I didn't do enough study). I forgot things. I crossed things out, and wrote them again, and ran out of room. I debated over which formalae to use. I think I did terribly.
Not as terribly as I did in the Datacom test. It was nice to open my email after an almost-nightmare stats test and find that I had only got 28.5% for my datacom test (note that this sentence drips heavily with sarcasm). Needless to say, I was very upset. I knew that I hadn't done well (datacom, in my opinion, is a waste of time), but I didn't think that I had done that not well.
Boy wasn't at uni. I sent him a text message, and he called me up and said he would be forty minutes. ("Leaving now." he told me. Later I found out the reason he left so late was because he had changed his clothes four times before coming to uni because he wasn't happy with how he looked... and I thought I was bad.) After five minutes of sitting in the labs, trying not to cry, I decided I wanted comfort and company, and went to visit Mike.
"What's the matter?" He was smiling. It's always nice when he's happy to see me.
"I failed the datacom test miserably." I said. I got a hug.
"Ahh." He said. "Hmmmm, I don't want to know what I got then!"
"You'll be fine, it's just me, I thought the test was really hard."
We chatted for a little while about random things: digital cameras, finishing uni, and his dog getting a spinal operation. Then he had to pretend to do some work.
I went back to the labs to count how many people had done worse than me, and give myself little reassurance with the fact that at least I wasn't the worst mark (only the 30th or so worst). A little while later, he came in with his test.
"Well, I passed, but not that well."
"Yeah... well, at least you passed."
"Hmmmm. I don't really know what to say..." He leaned over and gave me a (surprising) hug. "You look so sad."
"Ahh, I'll be alright." A forced smile. He looked concerned for a little while longer, and then left to pretend to do some more work, after giving me a gentle squeeze on my shoulder.
Well. At least people cared.
Boy arrived, and let me bury my head in his chest, and cry for a little while. Then, he lost his wallet and I was distracted for at least half an hour. He reclaimed it from the student union (it had fallen out of his pocket in the common rooms), less $10.00, and paranoid about his mastercard. I felt bad for him... somehow I felt like it was my fault, but he beat the idea away before it could become reality in my mind. We spent an hour or so in the bar drinking free coke and listening to Shick's social psychology lessons (I now know what a "cock blocker" is) and then went to datacom (despite my amplified hatred for the paper) and spent the lecture playing tetris and snake on assorted cellphones.
(Boy has beaten my Tetris score on his T28. I don't know how I feel about this. Hmph.)
Then, we left and drove to the florist.
After dinner, I made him watch my favourite soap, and Roswell (for once, I didn't cry), and I was thinking about watching Strassman, but Boy had other ideas in mind, constituting mainly of making love in the park, and, for a lesser part, letting me cry about the test and my past and anthing else there might be to cry about.
Now I am tired, and walking on air a little as I do when I realise how overwhelmingly I love Boy. I have sent my datacom tutor an email addressing my concerns. I have set my alarm to 8:30am, so I may wake up and do some study (keyword: may).
The Conclusion:
I suppose the end of the day hasn't been all that bad. Maybe tomorrow will be inspirational.