Losing my pretty fragile marbles

Maddie has been through enough as far as she's concerned. Her dad's a mad scientist, her mum's acting like an extra in Sex and the City 2 and her supposedly perfect and totally undisturbed snooze fest of a summer has been totally interrupted. If it's got so bad that she's having to write in a diary then what's going to come next?


1. Dear Urm...


Urm, dear you, I guess.  Diaries are seriously the lamest of the lame.  I mean, who even considers writing letters - really personal letters filled with gushy, deepest-darkest-secret kinda stuff - to a completely non-existent person?  Usually my line on diaries, journals and whatever is: if you're desperate enough to write in one then you're quite obviously lacking in some serious social skills.  But right now?  Let's just say I've revised my opinion.

Once upon a time I'd have worried that Mum would have read all this, when she was going on one of her manically nosy cleaning rampages.  But now all I have to worry about is Dad, and let's just say that's he's not all there at the mo.  To be frank, he's gone utterly bonkers, and I'm not even sure I'm that far from joining him.  I was so bored yesterday I almost voluntarily tidied my room.

It sucks, totally completely majorly.  This summer was meant to be one long, lazy, calorific snooze fest, and the only holiday romance I was expecting was between me and one of the local Greasy Diner's combo hot dogs.  But only one week into the holidays, Mum sat me down for what I assumed was a girly chat.

"Oh God, mum," I groaned.  "If we can skip the periods talk I'll be grateful, like forever.  I knew about it all when I was like, eleven."

Apart from looking a bit hurt (but seriously, what did she expect me to think it was about?), Mum just looked sad.  Like, "my dog's just died" kind of sad.

And then she told me.

"Maddie," she said, sighing like an actress in an "uplifting" Hollywood film about cancer, "I'm in love with a man.  And it's not your daddy, darling."

My first reaction was like I wanted to hit her on the nose or something.  When has dad ever been daddy?  And darling?  Please.  But then I just practically ghosted away.  I just went white and went up to my room.

In love?  She thinks she's in love?  Give me a break.  She's shacked up with another man and there is so totally nothing romantic or lovely about it.  

A week later and she moved out, and now she's gone she texts me every half hour, religiously, like she thinks by sending me an SMS she'll somehow win me back.  Ha.  Like I'm converting to the dark side!  (Even if it does have Chanel perfume and a red Porsche.)  This diary?  It was my big sister's idea, Portia.  She says it'll keep me sane with all the changes going on. But you know something?  I think I've already lost my pretty fragile marbles.  And there's no going back.

~Madison Park xx


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