Drug-Free Day

10-29 W 8:50 AM
Dijonia says I look like I just got off a farm.  I'm wearing jeans and dusty old work boots to school today.  I knew I looked like a geek, but I didn't care enough to change.  It's Drug-Free Day, Red Ribbon Week--whatever they call it.  They want us to wear red.  I was tempted to come to school with red eyes.  We're going to have an assembly and release a bunch of red balloons into the air.  I don't get the symbolism:  The balloons getting high, polluting the atmosphere.  I wish I was polluted.  Next year I have to quit one of my jobs.  Become the fucking writer.  This journal seems like one of the lamest I've done, but I'm sure if I were to look over the previous eighteen, I'd find them just as week.  Like my social skills.  Why am I not a part of a community of other thinkers and writers and intellectuals?  Where did this basic distrust come from?  It's because of the oppressive/frail nature of my ego, isn't it? 
What the hell else can we talk about here, you and I?  I could go for a home-cooked quesadilla.  I'll have to wait until after school.  Today at lunch, I'll only read.  We shoulda had a Halloween party.  Read some ghost stories.  Have Ol' Peculier play.  I read "The Red Room" by H.G. Wells to the class.  The language was too difficult for them.  I don't think they enjoyed it.  They liked "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow", though, which is written in nearly the same style and about as long.  What else?  It's hard to think here.  Ready? : I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?  The kids keep taking my scotch tape to put it on their lips.  I'm so sick of this shit, waste of my time, feeling like a prick.