|
选择字色： 选择背景色：
回书目 
March 11
Oy. I am so sick. My throat is sore, I’ve got a headache, and I’m dizzy.
I can barely write this. Gosh, searing headache.
March 14
Finally. I’m slightly better from this ibuprofen stuff. Joan the Fusspot
is avoiding me, in case she gets some “bacteria” in her so very divine (as
if) body. Mom and Dad are being unusually nice to me (advantage!!!)
Lotus Flower is steadily improving with her English, and even the
abominable cousins made me a get-well card in the short time they were
not roughhousing around.
“With each of our personal DNA, of course,” Randy had said
grandly, while I lay shocked with horror in my bed. By personal DNA, he
had meant a hair and a whole bunch of spit from each cousin. Elizabeth
had written her name in her shaky little letters, Randy had written his in
his dirty scrawl, and Arthur had written his in those big blocky bubble
letters that he always uses. I wish I could paste the card in here, but I can’t,
since there isn’t enough room.
March 15
Yum!!!! WAFFLES for lunch!!!! WAFFLES WAFFLES WAFFLES,
YEA! I am writing this in the morning (by the light of the window—
whatever I say, Dad still won’t give me a candle) and Joan is taking an extra
long snooze. She calls it a short siesta, but I know better. She can sleep
with hours on end. Part of the reason I always hated rooming with Joan
was because she makes this really loud noise kicking her covers off and
moving and everything. I used to sleep with Joan when I was five or so
and one time she kicked me over to the very edge of the bed so that I
almost fell off. Now I don’t have to sleep with Joan, luckily. Mom says that
Joan needs her “own bed space to grow”, “get rid of typical hormones”
and blah blah blah. I am still thinking about those delicious
mouthwatering divine waffles. Mmm…Mom’s special golden brown,
crisp but not in the least bit burnt…with tons and tons and tons and tons
and gazillions of whipped cream on top…
Later this afternoon
I am floating away on a vessel of whipped cream. Lunch was simply
indescribably heavenly. It was…simply waffle paradise. I had four waffles,
all with my special whipped cream seal or emblem or symbol or whatever
you want to call it (well, I just only invented it). It was a very wavy L with
a circle around it. Get it?? Lorna? Circle — for O?? And L. Which stands
for the first two letters of my name. So anyways, we also had organic
Journal of a Pre-teen
63
strawberries on top of that. That tasted even better. I tried to smear my
whipped cream everywhere on my waffle with my fork (another excuse
for eating whipped cream by itself) and a lot of the whipped cream ended
up on my fork. Mom and Dad didn’t even glance at me once.
March 16
Leftover waffles for breakfast. They don’t taste as good as ones fresh
from the waffle thingy (I think you call it a griddle). But they do taste
pretty good. Dad doesn’t let us have any whipped cream for breakfast,
because he says it has too much sugar. HECK!!! It has only one or two
grams of sugar, for heaven’s sake!!! Oh well.
March 17
Shame. There’s no more waffles left, and I have to eat the regular
cornflakes for breakfast. Plus an unfortunate discovery made yesterday—
I was ranting on about whipped cream having less sugar than milk. But
then Dad was like “It’s one gram of sugar every serving. But there are
seventy servings in the entire can. So, tell me, how many grams of sugar
are there?” I sat stupefied for a moment. But of course I couldn’t stay
mum for that long. Finally I admitted that it would come to a grand total
of seventy grams of sugar. Joan looked triumphant, how dare she gloat!!!
And the regular bagels with cheese for lunch. And the regular vegetables
and toasted bread for dinner. Joan is now criticizing Mom’s food. Dad
says that if she shuts up then we can go to MacDicken’s or Coldway’s
sometime soon. Well, he didn’t actually say “shut up.” He never says
anything like that. But he did say that if she didn’t do that anymore, we
would get to go to MacDicken’s sometime soon. So Joan did shut up. And
that was a good thing—she was getting on my nerves!!!!
March 18
Shopping. Regular stuff—shampoo, body soap, scented lotion for
Mom, shaving cream and deodorant for Dad, new backpack for Joan,
binder for Joan, pencil pack for me, eraser pack for both of us (DRAT!
Joan will steal again), a few office pens for Dad, and a frozen pizza. After
dropping that stuff at home we went off to MacDicken’s. I just got
something randomly off the list—Fish ’n chips. Joan, who is too old to
get the kid’s menu, ordered salmon with clam chowder as a side dish.
March 19
Man. Back to regular lessons. Horrible stuff. Mom brightened us up a
bit saying that if we read books for the summer, we will get a prize from
the library. Some reading program thing. It’s called Reading Deeds. We get
this little booklet thingy in which we record all of our time in which we
THE JOY OF WRITING
回书目 
