"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."



Anyway, I gave Pencil Case a stern talking-to during gym about his verbal harassment issues, and I told him basically the same thing I said here. Then Mr. N said, "You better not harass her, or I'll kick your ass." I had a lovely mental picture of Pencil Case's ass being kicked by Mr. N... haha, only half-kidding.

Now that that is out of the way, I'm going to tell you another Pencil Case story because he demands it, as usual. We had to write essays about each other's families in French, and he had to write about Chels', and he just picked random adjectives for all her family members and said that Chelsea's grandmother is "sticky". (This was on the same day he was told to get a drink.)

I now feel compelled to talk about my cuticles and their spastic bleeding. I must stop biting/ripping my cuticles. It is very bad and, in combination with the dryness of my skin, causes them to fall apart and bleed profusely at random points in my day. Then I have to go to the admissions office for a Band-Aid, which is also not very fun. I mean, it's not horrible or something I dread, it's just rather tedious. And, in a roundabout way, self-inflicted.

Have I mentioned yet that the Periodicals room smells like pumpkin seeds? That was quite an interesting observation of mine, and I just wanted to share it.


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