The longest lonesome

From Joce's Quillmark Journal, 6th grade

March 18, 1989

It’s been a long time since I have written because I just got too busy to write. Too lonely. I feel like sleeping, dreaming, crying and being sad. I don’t know why. I want to paint my feelings but not good with paintbrush.

March 20, 1989

I think I’m eccentric. I love weird art like Picasso and big earrings, radical outfits, writing in diaries. I’m like two people I’ve got a wild side that likes wacko things like Big and Bold colors and black lace and leather. But my other side likes country living.

March 27, 1989

Yesterday I got my hair cut shoulder length. It used to hang all the way past my waist.

Fargo (puppy) died last Thursday. He drowned in the well.

April 23, 1989

I don’t know what I’ll do if any more happens. Life, I guess is like a shirt. It is new and fresh and no wrinkles or stains but soon it wears out and is torn and dirty and then thrown away. What shall I do? Things bother me so much. I’m starting to do bad and might even get a C-. Mom says I never smile and I know I don’t. I need a good friend to talk to. I feel like a doll sitting on a shelf not being able to take part in my own life. Waiting for spiderwebs. I guess it’s what you call lonesome.

P.S. got perm today