Post by waverly shannon on Sept 18, 2012 2:49:47 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; padding: 10px; border: #000000 solid 0px; ] stuck in this daydream. [style=font-family: helvetica; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 6px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center;]YOUR ALIAS HERE FULL NAME: waverly lydia shannon ALIAS: waves, wavie, wav, ly, shannon DATE OF BIRTH: 20.06.1992 AGE: twenty OCCUPATION: student (communication studies) / hotel receptionist SEXUALITY: bisexual, mostly guys though PLAY BY: frida gustavsson UNIVERSITY STUDENT [style=background-color: #5a667e; border: 10px solid #5a667e; font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: 10px; color: white; text-align: center;]all about me my mother gave this to me before I took over for myrtle beach. it’s my first night alone in my dorm, I’m eighteen years old and attending the university of south carolina for well nothing at the moment. I just want to try everything at this point, just find my place in this school and maybe in time, in this world. I was told to be a writer, an architect, carpenter, but none of them fit me. this is the first entry on my first night, august 5th, 2010. [/style]my entire life, I was told that I was average. average was not bad at all, the definition is being equivalent to the normal standards so that does not sound like a bad thing. my older brother is a baseball player that is being drafted for the major leagues next season, my younger sister is going to be valedictorian of her high school class and my parents, you might know my mother as she has been seen in catalouges of all kinds and with a body to die for—I got my father’s side of the family build. I’m tall, thin but when you look at me, you know something is off. and my father is a police officer in the town of myrtle beach which is nothing special but he gets medals all the time. me? I’m the awkward little thing that stands next to him, using her strawberry blonde hair to hide her face from the cameras because I’m not too photogenic. I tried modelling, or attempted to be one and it did not work out too well as I was called “average” once more. my grades are average, my life is pretty average. there is that website that is all about mundane or strange things that happen to them and people post it followed by the letters MLIA, that’s my life. I’m everything about that thing because that’s all I am, and I’ve grown to be content with that. I have no problems in admitting that I’m average, or maybe just below that. my ego has not taken a blow because it’s hardly built up anyway but it’s nothing to cry over—now spilled milk is. I can be a little random sometimes, spewing out random facts that I have locked away in my head just to keep the conversation going because, I hate awkward silence. my life has too many awkward moments that I can’t take the awkward silence that surrounds two or more people. even worse is a room full of people that are just muttering to one another and it just sounds like a bunch of secrets being told to one another. has there ever been tragedy in my life? I suppose that everyone has tragedy in their lives. they all have something that is hurtful and that affects them in anyway. my older brother introduced me to this boy a few years back and him and I hit it off. we talked, he was just as random as me and maybe I thought that I was in love with the boy but I guess that’s just hog wash now. oh yes, I use delightful phrases that have long been dead just to see if I can resurrect them in anyway. but that is far off topic, and sometimes I do that but really, you just need to clear your throat or punch me in the arm and I will Segway my way right back to the conversation. i’m surprised that you don’t know this boy’s name, it was kyle enginman. he was seventeen and i was sixteen. he was a nice boy which is why I don’t understand why he was killed but he was, just as him and I had begun to develop something along the lines of a relationship. he was found in his house, in the basement after he had not appeared at school for a few days. police stopped investigating but i always wonder if they did find the killer, I wish I could say something things to the person that I did it. he was such a sweet boy, a darling little thing. so long story short, my ex-boyfriend was killed in his house for an unknown reason. no one knows why or when it happened but I hate that someone would even do that, and even more so, I can’t see how anyone could do that. I don’t really care the reasons why, it’s just horrible to end someone’s life. I can possibly understanding punching a person but actually ending their life, making that choice for them is not right in my opinion. my brother had to tell me, blocking the tv and all the newspaper, trying to explain while his own voice was cracking. it was a shock to everyone as the town of applestone, pennsyvania was not known for being violent but for being loving, caring and neighborly. the town had an air of sweetness around it that revolved around the apple trees that grew everywhere. I stopped liking apples after the fourth fair that I went to and ate so many and well…the outcome is obvious. but I still love that little town and visit as much as I can. after that though, after kyle’s funeral, I figured that I had become dependent on too many people. I have become accustomed to leaning against others instead of standing on my own two feet and because of that, I applied to university outside of the state of Pennsylvania. my parents were shocked and my brother was a little hurt that I would choose to be so far away from home. south carolina seemed like a good option, sunny outlook on life is something that I do have. but I don’t tolerate the physical pain of another, I put my foot down to it and either I become very verbal in my discomfort or I do the opposite and i’m am silent, walking away from the situation. I try not to hurt people but I do mess up from time to time and go without thinking but most of the time, I’m thoughtful with my words. i hate to say that I am one of those people that sugarcoat the truth but I do, I like to be a cushion for bad news because I know what it’s like to get things told straight up without a cushion and it hurts, badly. i am not a people pleaser but I am a people person, I like to be surrounded by people because I guess, then I’m reminded that I am average, perfectly normal in a family of extraordinary people. I don’t mind animals coming to me but I don’t have any pets, except for the rabbit that I had when I was nine and I was scared of it. my parents gave it away and naturally, I was upset that they had given away my pet but I understand why now but then, it was the end of the world. maybe that event in my life affected me more than I realize? I guess that was my first memory of being really upset, crying for a good few hours straight and even planning a small funeral for the bunny since I thought it was going to die without being in my arms. my arms rarely wrap around a person by the way, I’m affectionate but more with my words than my actions. if you get a hug from me, a kiss on the cheek, it means that you are in my sphere of trust, friends and love. it’s this weird thing that my mother told me about when I was a little girl, that only special people should be allowed into the sphere and that is how it’s always been. I’m not untrusting but I don’t write you off immediately and usually, I give second or even third chances. diary, this is probably more than you care to know, this is probably more than you could even imagine in my first entry in you but I suppose that it’s supposed to be about me, so this is me writing about myself in you. I feel like I’m violating you by putting a pen to your paper, defiling you in some kind of way. it’s weird, but it’s just what I can’t stop thinking about. I never write down my thoughts and yet, here I am pouring myself into the pages instead of speaking them into a recorder. I will be sure to hide you well, not under the mattress where people search first but I guess to figure this stuff out, you just got to talk to me. waverly diary, it’s been far too long. I found you once more while cleaning out my dorm for the end of the year and you were hidden under a floorboard. I forget that I put you there, but I’m glad that I found you. so much happened to me in my first year, including failing my first class, losing my virginity, meeting my best friend in the whole world, losing that best friend, crying, laughing, stressing…oh it was a rush. i know that I have to go back to pennslyvania but I can’t wait to return here next year and see what life brings me. it seems exciting, not knowing. I went to my first party too, not really my thing but I did not despise it completely. I stayed up all night for the first time in my life in order to finish a paper. I don’t think I’ve changed that much but watching my roommate back up now makes me realize how much i have changed. i know who I am now, I picked my major and I’m sticking to it because it seems like the right path for me. I’m sorry that I lost you but this time, I don’t feel as though I’m deflowering you since I did that only months ago. well my cab is here, and I’m off to the train station where I will return home as a whole new me. waverly I keep losing you diary, you seem to be in my life when a chapter is just finishing up and this was my first summer home. my brother is now on the Arizona diamondbacks baseball team and I can’t wait to see where this will take him in the end. my sister graduated and looked just as beautiful as my mother on the day. I’m returning back to my dorm tomorrow, my train ticket will be nestled inside of you just incase I either, forget it or I end up needing you in the months to come—if I can find you. my life is not anything special at this moment, it’s strange how good and free I can feel when i’m on the campus but feel so low, so nothing in this household and yet, I don’t want to leave. I’m going to miss my father’s shouting at the tv as though they can hear them through the box, or my mother’s cooking that is equal to that of a professional chef. my brother being his overprotective self especially after kyle but even moreso as he called me a “beautiful young woman growing into herself”, and my sister…she looks up to me and I even look up to her (she is taller). it’s strange how much I want to stay but how much I want to go just to get that shred of self-respect for myself back because honestly, I feel worthless standing next to my family. waverly it’s his anniversary, well, our anniversary today. two actually. one would be our three year anniversary and next week is his death. I don’t know why I’m thinking of him so much but I am, I can’t help it. sorry for the waterworks on your pages diary, you are the first person to see me cry about it besides my brother. we cried together when it happened. it was eight months for us, a milestone in many eyes and I guess I’m being nostalgic. maybe I should call home, if I can find my phone. as the years go on, I find that I am more forgetful or if the stress is building, I’m useless in even remembering what I ate that day. pancakes by the way, delicious and fluffy…who knew my roommate could cook? waveryly that was the last time that the diary was written in. it might have been her lack of a social life and her need to study more, or it could have been the fact that she had forgotten where she had placed the thing but her apartment has it somewhere, hidden away in safety. occasionally, she will hunt for it, looking for it but it’s lost forever until a new chapter appears in her life and so far, it’s been pretty bland. she did however change her major to communications, not that exciting. |
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