28/10/15

Dear Frankie

I didn't leak, thank god. Or whatever dictates my life and what happens to me. Thank that thing. So I was, of course, grumpy and moody the whole time in class. I refused to do anything that required leaning on my side and the overenthusiastic teacher lady just gave me a sympathetic look, like 'I feel your pain.'
Periods - bringing woman together since 3000 BC.
I didn't pay much attention after I communicated my pain to the teacher through disgruntled looks and refusal to do certain actions, and only did one or two moves out of the thirty thousand they did. The first one was the lotus - I honestly wanted to know how to do it, just because Lizzy did it when she was studying and it looked really cool. The other one was this thing that was kind of like a plank, only it was with feet levitated off the ground. 
I only tried that one because I honestly thought I would be stronger than all the old ladies in the class. 
I was wrong.
So annoyed and rather humiliated, I just sat there for the rest of the lesson like a bratty child and pretended I was doing breathing exercises. (I've been breathing for 15 years. I don't think I need lessons on breathing.)
And - wait for it - after the lesson, the teacher called me over. She told me that she expected more of an effort from me, since my mother was paying so much for me to enjoy this wonderful 'exercise'.
Okay, I'm not sure which grade level you skipped, lady, but yoga is not exercise.  
Don't look at me like that, Frankie, just because it requires ab work does not mean it's an exercise. 
Urgh they suck so much! I told mum not to waste so much money on something I obviously did not want to do, but she refused, and I threw a hissy fit all through dinner, so she ended up sending me off to my room and I didn't get any brownies for desert.
Today sucked.
Just one more day tomorrow - and if I hate it, I swear to whatever makes decisions for me, I'm quitting. I'm not doing it anymore. No, no, no.

Signing off now, Mia. 

PS: I'm going to hide you now, Frankie. Aspen's coming over and I don't want her to find my description of her.

27/10/15

Dear Frankie

I don't have much time today, mum's mad at me for skipping yoga yesterday and I need to go today's lesson in ten minutes. Why did I skip? Well I think it's rather obvious, isn't it Frankie? 

1)  I still hate yoga.

2)  I really really hate yoga

3)  The red tooth fairy has come

See why I wanted you to be a Frankie and not a Frank now Frankie? So obviously, I was cranky and annoyed and hoping that I was hallucinating - honestly, why wouldn't I wish that I was? Of course, yoga was the last thing I was thinking about and the last thing I wanted to do. Can you imagine the stress? 

~~~

'Now, let's all roll onto our sides and hold our legs up, taking a deep breath as we do.... And let it out.... And in... And out...'

Are you crazy woman? On our sides? What if I leak? Mum would go ballistic if I stain the yoga mat red! What if I leak???

No! You can't make me do this! 

~~~

So I just didn't show up. Instead, I hung out with the mates at the mall. Perhaps I should introduce my crazed friends:

Lizzy is quite frankly, insane. She also happens to be the smartest (and possibly craziest) person I have met and will ever meet in my entire life. Her hair always looks like a volcano spewing frizzy red curls everywhere and she can do this thing with her eyes where they change colour depending on what state she's in (either complaining about stupid people, slamming stupid people with her smartness, or simply making us all feel stupid by doing nothing at all). They're usually blue, though - since she's usually in her 'making us feel stupid' mood. 

Then there's Aspen. She's definitely the calm, collected one of our group (and the one keeping the two of us out of detention for being smartasses). She thinks before she acts, she's nice to everyone, and everyone's nice to her. Out of the three of us, she's the one person who can do sports of any kind - basketball, swimming, cheerleading, flipping off a cliff, you name it. She looks like the typical cheerleading blonde bimbo (please don't tell her I said that) with her perfectly curled blonde hair and blue eyes. She's nice, though. And occasionally, perhaps once two months, she goes all crazy with Lizzy and I, and we make life hell for everyone around us. 

Yeah, we're charming, I know.

Oops I got to go! Mum's yelling at me to hurry up and get out of my pyjamas - it's three in the afternoon. I don't care mum! It's Sunday and I do as I please! 

I suppose I need to go. Apparently we're doing meditation in yoga today. Awesome. I can sleep.

Signing off, Mia.

26/10/15

Dear Frankie.

Yoga lessons started today, and I can safely claim that it is the most unbearably stupid thing I have ever spent time on. In my whole life. Ever.

So it all started with me lugging my yoga mat on my shoulder like some elderly lady who has nothing better to do with her life down the street towards this studio five minutes from where I live. And when I got in, this weird calm music was blaring in the wooden floor studio that looked like some sort of ballet classroom. Only it wasn't full of little girls in pink tutus. It was full of big girls in pink leggings. And it wasn't even the nice sort of pink that you are, Frankie!

 *facepalm*

I don't understand how I will survive. 

So back to the lesson - the teacher was this overenthusiastic middle aged woman who smiled and greeted everyone who came in like they were her long lost grandchildren who really needed some brownies.

Speaking of brownies...

Brb.

Okay I'm back. So first she made all of us try to stretch - emphasis on try, obviously. I made it halfway to my toes, then I just gave up for the rest of the stretching session and sat there looking at everyone else stretch. No one even noticed I wasn't doing anything, because they all had their eyes closed 'looking for their inner selves'.

Yeah. These people should be in a mental asylum.

In fact, that's what I told mum when I got back from my hour long session of sitting on the floor on my phone, and she went bonkers. Like full on disappointed lecture sessions about how she was paying two hundred dollars a week for me to be able to relax and connect with my inner self and I had the nerve to sit there on my phone?

Um yeah that's what I just told her...

Sadly, I have to go back tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that. Until I somehow 'reach that state of peace' she wants me to achieve, whatever that is. Maybe tomorrow I'll bring the dog. No one will even notice.

Signing off, Mia.

25/10/15

Dear Dairy Diary.

Actually sheesh that sounds so weird, besides, what sort of name is Diary? Stuff that. You're Frank.

Actually, you're Frankie. That way, you're a girl I can talk to about periods and stuff. We cool? Yas. Let's go.

I'm Mia, and the only reason I'm even making the effort to get out of bed and write in an actual book with an actual pen is because my mum brought this really nice pink leather passcode bound book that is way too cool to not write in. Like seriously, Frankie. You're cute. Anyways back to me. I'm fifteen, I live in Sydney, and I have really weird brown hair that's in that strange stage between straight and curly. I hope it'll change soon. I honestly hope it's just confused.

 My eyes are light grey, so basically the colour of dirty snow that's never mentioned in all those romance novels, where they have main characters with 'beautiful-grey orbs-flecked-with -gold-around-the-pupil-and-ringed-with-green-that-shone -in-the-light-like-the-moon-on-a-cloudless-night.' Not that I read romance novels, Frankie. Don't tease me.

You, on the other hand, have bright pink bubblegum coloured hair and rose gold eyes.

I'm jealous, Frankie. I really am.

So back to the whole proper diary thing.

Dear Frankie.

Guess what my mum signed me up for? Yoga classes. Yoga. Can you believe it? I am a normal teenager girl with a life! I go to Starbucks for lunch! I talk about boys! I binge watch the latest season of Pretty Little Liars in bed all day long with chocolate ice cream! I don't do yoga!

Pfffffffft.

I really don't want to do it.

What sort of teenage girl willingly compacts herself into a shape that would fit into a Pringles can? Relaxation? Pfft. I don't do that sort of crap. I honestly don't understand how stretching (or compacting) had anything to do loosening up. A hot bath and not getting fat after eating three hundred brownies would do a much better job, don't you think Frankie?

I think so too.

But mothership disagrees. She thinks that it would be 'good for my soul'. There's nothing wrong with my soul except for the fact that it's black. Like chocolate and coffee and all good things in life. I have no problem with a black soul. It's all the rage these days.

She says that I have classes everyday after school - she won't even take the 'I need to study' excuse? Can you believe it?

Me neither.

I'm very very mad. Very. So the lessons start tomorrow... And I'll tell you about it, I guess Frankie. If there are any cute guys. (There won't, because anyone cute would have nothing to do with yoga.)

Signing off now, Mia.

19/10/15