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