This is my final entry from 1998 and the first part of eleventh grade. A bit of a pensive entry, but not too down. I talk about being depressed, but there's a lot of optimism here too, which is nice to see.
It becomes obvious in this entry that I'm not American. Hannah had taken the SATs because she was fairly certain she wanted to go to a US university, and had scored very well. I was considering taking them because I wanted to option of applying to US schools. I didn't end up taking them at that point; and if I had, there is no way I would have beaten Hannah's score--she is extremely smart and well-rounded.
In this case, I did follow up on the idea some years later, scored reasonably well, and got accepted to an American college for a second degree. Despite all my bitching and moaning in this entry, Hannah has been one of the ones to reassure me that just because I didn't ace the math section of the test doesn't mean I'm bad at math, and that I underestimate my non-arts intelligence. As you'll hear me say over and over: she's a good friend.
I did study film for a while, and decided it wasn't for me after all. I never did go to school in California, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I would be eaten alive if I tried to find my way into Hollywood. I still fucking love the weather in L.A., though.
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