cause she's... a... star!

It's funny, I never really much know what people are going to like and what they aren't. I think it's sort of a part of human nature to seek other people's approval. Sometimes I feel like I do it to an unhealthy extent. But other times I feel like I'm not as bad about it as a lot of the girls I know, at least externally.
I don't have any idea what I'm even talking about here. My mother keeps telling me that I should submit something to a literary magazine for teens. Or something. Which is sort of hilarious, because my writing is generally terrible. I don't usually have my mother read anything I write because, quite frankly, it's a bit too graphic for her tastes. I prefer for my mother to still think I'm sort of a child, generally.

"Honey, I'm home," he calls ironically into the shadowy darkness of their kitchen.
There is no answer. For a moment, he wonders what he will do if his wife is lying dead on the bathroom floor. He imagines her wrists slit all the way up the sides to her elbow- a suicide. He imagines how he would hold her in his arms and it would look like he loved her, more than he ever did when she was alive. He would smell her hair.
He walks into the bathroom. There is no one there. He realizes as he flicks on the lights that for a moment he almost wished she was dead so that he could miss her. He stands in the doorway for a while and listens to the steady buzz of the fluorescence.

Like, what the hell is that? Would you want your mother to read that drivel? Of course not. Sometimes I feel like my mother hardly knows me at all, and the way she sees me is just sort of a taller version of the person I was when I was a child. But I guess, in the rough words of Anne Frank's father, 'I was very much surprised about the deep thoughts that Anne had, her seriousness, especially her self-criticism. It was quite a different Anne than I had known as my daughter. She never really showed this kind of inner feeling.' And I feel like this goes to how a parent can never really know their own child, because it is a child's innate desire to please their parents. Maybe I'm getting a little Freudian here.
Things that made me happy today:
-Alex Day writing a song about Lady Godiva.
-My British homeroom teacher calling my report card 'smashing'.
-Reading Lady Capulet histrionically.

It's a pretty short list.
Also, mailing letters is a lot of work. My mother doesn't want me to put my letters in a mail box because 'someone could steal it'. So we have to drop it in the post... box? You know. Post office box? It's blue.
I think I'm going to put them in the mailbox anyway.
Additionally, when an adult woman talks about a beauty product and says it has 'just the right amount of sparkle', it's kind of embarrassing. For everyone.