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taratemima10 years ago, I attended high school at Fontbonne Academy. My mom loves to tell the story about how I walked into the Catholic high school examinations with my birth certificate and $15. "Have you studied?" "No," says I, not realizing other kids have been studying for these things. I ended up getting in the 95th percentile, according to my mother.
10 years ago, I was fighting more with my stepfather, getting seeing siblings and mother getting hit more. I am sure he went to prison once or twice for recieving stolen goods.
10 years ago, I started my sophmore year.
10 years ago, my summer job was a work study, learning aviation in Braintree High with some military brats. Somehow, I was so nervous about two particular girls, that I started repeating to myself 'bitch.' They obviously did not like it. I freaked out crying over one of them threatening me, had to talk one of them out of fighting me. Big field trip was flying a plane, but I was so sure I'd screw up, I opted not to. I think most of my money went to my father, and maybe lunch and an occasional tape.
10 years ago, I had no idea anyone wanted to date me.
10 years ago, I was afraid I was still going to worry about money when I lived on my own.
10 years ago, I wonder if I could go back to Fontbonne, worried whether mom could afford it. I was let in through a work study with the school.
10 years ago, I wrote poetry and starts for fiction.
10 years ago, the only computer I used was an Apple for games and word processing.
10 years ago, I started getting headaches.
10 years ago, I knew about sex, but never had, didn't wanted, and wasn't sure if I would enjoy it.
Onward to other news-- I finished sorting out jobs in biotechnology (I feel I work best if I am helping out with new ideas, and this is one of them), web globalization and publishing. Next, will need to look at and organize all those career fair jobs. Then finish Sam's chapter. Then apply for all those jobs. Then make list of books to sell on eBay.
Bad news--I think they found another candidate for that telemarketing job, but they won't know for sure until tomorrow. Good news, I have another job offer from the placement agency at an answering service. I hope things go well.
10 years ago, I was fighting more with my stepfather, getting seeing siblings and mother getting hit more. I am sure he went to prison once or twice for recieving stolen goods.
10 years ago, I started my sophmore year.
10 years ago, my summer job was a work study, learning aviation in Braintree High with some military brats. Somehow, I was so nervous about two particular girls, that I started repeating to myself 'bitch.' They obviously did not like it. I freaked out crying over one of them threatening me, had to talk one of them out of fighting me. Big field trip was flying a plane, but I was so sure I'd screw up, I opted not to. I think most of my money went to my father, and maybe lunch and an occasional tape.
10 years ago, I had no idea anyone wanted to date me.
10 years ago, I was afraid I was still going to worry about money when I lived on my own.
10 years ago, I wonder if I could go back to Fontbonne, worried whether mom could afford it. I was let in through a work study with the school.
10 years ago, I wrote poetry and starts for fiction.
10 years ago, the only computer I used was an Apple for games and word processing.
10 years ago, I started getting headaches.
10 years ago, I knew about sex, but never had, didn't wanted, and wasn't sure if I would enjoy it.
Onward to other news-- I finished sorting out jobs in biotechnology (I feel I work best if I am helping out with new ideas, and this is one of them), web globalization and publishing. Next, will need to look at and organize all those career fair jobs. Then finish Sam's chapter. Then apply for all those jobs. Then make list of books to sell on eBay.
Bad news--I think they found another candidate for that telemarketing job, but they won't know for sure until tomorrow. Good news, I have another job offer from the placement agency at an answering service. I hope things go well.
