love, your sweet p

i was misplaced,

May 3, 2019

Dear Diary,

     Today was okay. We're in Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania. Gia forced me to sleep over with her in the hotel room, but like most times I write in a hotel room, she's in the shower. I wish I wasn't here. In the hotel room or in general.

     The beginning of the day was kind of amusing, to say the most. She made the moms make a bird nest out of the sticks in the nearby forest. I would love to run through the forest and just be free. But then I would get scratches all over my body, which Abby would hate.

     After that, we worked on our duets. Gia and I wore matching sports bras today, which was cool, I guess. They were pink leopard print. I hate leopard print. I only did it for her because she won't see me for long.

     I feel bad that I have the lead in the duet. Gia's a Broadway star and I'm a measly Jersey girl that's never booked a job that still believes there's a ghost named Betty in the Studio C closet and doesn't deserve the lead. I should be invisible.

     Then we finished up the group dance. I hate ballet, which makes dance (which I still hate) worse. My favorite styles were lyrical and hip-hop when I liked dance. Now I hate all the styles, but ballet is the worst. I'm glad I don't have the lead in the group dance.

     Next, we had to get on the bus. The moms had to put piles of conjoined twigs and sticks below the bus, which was cool to see. Poor Michelle was forced to clean up all of the dirt on the floor, which took a while. Joanne pitched in too.

      I don't remember the bus ride. I had my own row and I just kept to myself for the entire bus ride. I don't want to do anything with the kids. I spent the two hours napping and planning my suicide. I have the final plan. It's going to happen on May 12th, the Sunday after next week. There's no way I'll be alive.

I'll have more details next week, but Gia's getting out so I can't write anymore. Nine more days.

Love,

sweet p