To prove that I am no saint Charlotte brings me low.
August 2, 1969 Two things have
happened to Charlotte while I was supposed to be taking care of her. On Thursday she burnt her fingers, not too
bad, but bad enough to keep her screaming for 75 minutes. You see I had gone
downstairs with hr and was talking to Jeanette. Then I noticed Charlotte was
gone so I went upstairs. I was on the top step when I saw the reflection of
fire on the oven door. I ran in and
screamed to my mother that Lotte had a kool-aide bag on her fingers and it was
on fire. (My mother had her back turned to Lotte). I was petrified and shaking
all over. Then today Lotte fell down the steps and got a cut above her eyebrow.
It wasn’t even bad, hardly even bleeding.
Both times my mother blamed me. When Lotte fell down the steps I was on
the top and Charlotte was ½ way down. I couldn’t of stopped her from falling
but try and convince my mother. Sometimes I wonder if she hates me and I think
I hate her. But at night I pray to God to help me be nice to her. I love her
when I’m not near her but when I am I irritate her. I hope my children never hate
me even when they’re angry.
NOTE: I can’t help laughing at
myself and how insignificant I make Charlotte’s sufferings. It’s all about
me. I remember quite vividly that
Charlotte had huge blister bubbles on at least 3 fingers for some time after
the fingers were burned. Apparently
blood coming from her brow left me unfazed.
On a different note, for quite
some time in the diary I use “of” when I should be saying “have” or “”could’ve”
or “would’ve”. I even used it in my
English essays and Mr. Kennedy never corrected me!
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