Growing Up
17.29.25.06.2007
Warning: severe emo-ness
October 13, Monday
I didn't intend on starting this diary in honor of an amazing event, but it seems as if I am anyways. My female Siamese cat had kittens! I've been up since 3:30 AM helping Mommy! there were 3 kittens already born when I got there, so I got to help towel them, warm them, and see Mollie deliver kittens 4 and 5. Kitten 4 was a breech baby, but kitten 5 was a normal one. I got to help towel them off. they were all wet when they were born, and cold too. Now, a few hours later, they look like little white rats. They're so soft and about 6-5 inches long. They're white and their faces look like the picture. They look weird! I love kittens. They're so soft. Right now Mommy won't let me touch them tooo often, and then only after I wash my hands and ask her. They look like little white puffballs, and there's
I put the book down. Reading through this old diary is so strange. I was a different person then. Don't get me wrong, I do remember this as clear as day, but it seems like it was through the eyes of a stranger. I've changed so much since then. The kittens are old and gray now, and I don't call my mother "Mommy" anymore. These days, I wouldn't be caught dead writing my private thoughts down in a diary for anyone to read. I rarely write them down at all anymore.
Sitting on the bare mattress that I use as a bed, I observe the room around me. The fairy drawings I'd had on the wall on that October Monday have long since been replaced by posters of some obscure industrial band or another. The bookshelf is full of history, not fantasy. I think I still have the teddy bear calendar somewhere. The frills have been torn away, along with the childish dreams of magic and makeup, fantasy and fame. Now I know what the real world is like -- that it isn't all glamor and glitter and lipstick-smeared mirrors. That miracles don't happen. That wishes don't come true, love is pain, angels don't come down from the heavens to make it all better when your heart is broken.
There's a sound down the hall, and I leave the room to check it out. Footprints on the freshly vacuumed carpet lead into my little sister's room. I open the door a crack. Peering inside, I see Gabrielle lying on the pink comforter, blonde hair fanned out behind her. She's talking in a high-piched, excited voice on a cell phone about someone named Stephen.
She's still dreaming. She still thinks that wishes come true. She still believes.
In what?