Dear Diary,
Been 3 days now, since we first moved in. I've managed to stay put in my bedroom in the basement; it's the only place I feel comfortable. My mother is always coming down constantly, and it bugs me to death - one day, you might can take that literaly.
I spend most of my time just thinking. Thinking about how I've gotten to be where I am now. Why am I as I am? I'm different then most people, and stick out like a sore thumb. If I could have chosen what life to live from the get-go, it wouldn't have been this one. I really do hate my life, I say it, and I mean it.
Can you actually believe my mother told me to go out and get some sun today? Sun? Is that what I really need; sun? Of all the things in the world to worry about, I think that the color of my skin is the least of everybodies concerns. Of course, once I put on the horrid swim suit she bought for me, I didn't want to go out and be seen it it. I don't like the way I look in bathing suits, which may be one reason I hate the beach. Had I've went, I'd been faced with a hundred preppy jocks playing volleyball in skimpy things that barely classify as clothes. I'm smart enough to realize that unless I want to get in a load of legal trouble, that I'd better stay put in my graceful dungeon. And so, I spent my afternoon in the shade of a windowless basement, only soaking up the single 60 watt bulb that hung above my chair.
My 'fabulous' day concluded with a visit from some random neighbors. I, of course, didn't want to meet a single one of them, however, if I wanted to live to see another day - which I'm not so sure I really wanted to do - I had to go greet them, atleast. Oh yeah, it didn't go to slick, ofcourse. There's something I really hate about posers who try to 'relate' to you in some way, and mistakingly get caught up way to far in business they don't need to be in. I, fed up, proceeded in throwing iced water on her, and returned, again, to my basement paradise, where I remained the rest of the night, whilst writing this . . .
-x. Annie
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