Screw it.

So much for my farewell, yeah?

I don’t care at the moment who reads this. I’ve been drinking some wine, and I’m going to write one of my Daily Spark journals.

Task: “What was your most humiliating junior high experience? Write a short, possibly funny, description of it.”

I’m not entirely sure I had one humiliating junior high experience that stands out above the rest. I feel like Frost Valley probably ices the cake, if anything. I opted to go on a nature-trip with all of the other honors eighth graders, packing my baggy red jeans and NYR boxers, which, for some reason I wore proudly like a boy. I proceeded to get my period on the trip, and tell just about everyone. Then I refused to participate in most things, got angry at the romances on the trip (Bess & Mark playing frisbee?! WTF?!) and sulked most of the time. I honestly don’t remember much about the trip, save for the compost smelled funny and I was at a very awkward age. Our room named our toilet bowls Joan and Jane Flushing. ‘Nuff said.

Oh eighth grade, you amuse me.

‘Night, kiddies.


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