I have completed my eighth-grade studies at school and am moving on to three-hour school. Unless I’m needed at home or have a job elsewhere, the state says I must go, once a week, until I turn fifteen. I must also keep a journal, which I do. At my next birthday, I may stop my schooling, but I like getting out of the house, if only for a few hours a week.
Today, Samuel stopped by for a visit, but I am not interested. He is nice enough, if he can hold his complaints to himself.
While in Samuel’s presence, I often think of Father’s favorite quote:
There is no sense of advertising your troubles. There’s no market for them anyhow.
I find that I like keeping a journal. With my education behind me, it is no longer required, but I think I shall continue.
Constance tells me that Samuel was seen last week, swooning over Beatrice Lapp. I think they make a perfect couple. Both boring as a stick, and skinny as one, to boot.
Since this is no longer a prayer journal, I do not have to ask for Gott’s forgiveness for my wicked thoughts or worry about writing strictly in English. But I know my thoughts are uncharitable, so Gott, please forgive me.
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