Buggers and Modesty

Definitely not a good day. Before I tell you about it, you must understand what I am. Certainly, I am not perfect. My hair lacks life and colour, and my eyes are too big. I’m afraid, and people tell me, that they might jump out someday. My eyebrows are extremely dark, and so big, unlike my blue eyes and what you would call ‘blonde’ hair. My nose, I can breathe, yes, but it goes in a weird curve and then totally drops. It points down-like. I’m hairy. Not monster-hairy, but enough as to remind me of wax and depilation. I go to school. I don’t totally suck, but I know I am not doing my best either.

Before I think about killing myself or something, I compliment of me to be modest. Which is just the same as pessimist, I’ve come to realize. I am good at finding flaws, specially mine, and I’m usually blaming myself for everything that happens to me. What happened today, though, I don’t know what to say. I’d say I was thinking too much already.

I do sports. I’m not good at them, I just started playing them this year. Not only was I extremely bored of books and T.V., but I thought it would be good for my body. Soccer it is. I’ve always considered for the girls in the basketball team to be sort of mean. Or maybe it’s just that I’m pure innocence. I’ve never been able to come with good comebacks, on time. I always spend the night thinking about things I should’ve said during the day. It’s always too late, though. I’m weak, physically. I’ve never liked volleyballs. There’s a higher chance you’ll get hit in the head, and I feel sort of naked if I’m said to remove my watch and bracelets. Should I leave them on, the pain increases. I just walked away.

I’ve never been to social. I met this girl, she kind of met me first, but she’s not that nice. She came today, and I start practicing without much enthusiasm. I was doing my best to ignore her, I was. She’s some sort of pervert, annoying little freak. Little. She’s one year younger. I’m so stupid, letting her take advantage of me, but I just ignore. Perhaps what bothers me so much, it’s her skills. Jealousy. I’m very jealous. She makes really good tricks with that ball, and sometimes I stare. Her mouth shuts up when she plays soccer, and that’s good.

It’s water break, and I drink water rapidly. It seemed the coaches had read each other’s kind and now the guys were resting too. I must acknowledge, I like this guy, in the boy’s team. He’s cute and everything, but I can’t find a way to describe him physically. He’d seem too much average. He isn’t. His skin tone is darker, for instance. He drinks water, and I try not to look. I’m kind of dreamy already, when the soccer freak arrives. She’s so filled up with herself, and she walks next to me. I smile, and her eyes get all weird, and it’s scary, and I can’t even fixate on the smile. She fills up her glass, and drinks all the water, and throws the glass into the trash, so tuff. She walks again. “You have a bugger right there.” She doesn’t point, but it sort of destroys my life, what she said. The boy, he’s still there. He’s not a fast drinker, and I can’t really see his reaction. He’s sort of serious, in most cases. I’m scared, and so embarrassed. I hear her laugh a bit, walking back to the field. I’m immovable, but I don’t remember where I was looking. I don’t want to see him again, though. But I know, bitterly, there’s no chances, if there once were. I’m bugger girl. It takes me long enough to get to the bathroom, and clean my nose. I hate myself, I think. Because I discovered, too, I’m too careless to goddamn clean my nose. Bad, bad day.