Chapter Text
January 31st, 2016
сука блять.
Let me start off with this: I DON’T WANT TO WRITE THIS I DON’T WANT TO WRITE THIS I DON’T WANT TO WRITE THIS
But Yakov is keeping a close eye on me, so I have to.
I HATE YOU YAKOV THIS IDEA IS STUPID THIS IDEA IS SO STUPID IT WON’T HELP ME AT ALL
Yakov noticed that I am practically stabbing this… notebook with my pen. I have to write in paragraphs and stop blotting the paper if I do not want Yakov to come over and scold me.
Plus, it would be rude if I am cursing someone in secret and he finds out, BUT THIS IS MY NOTEBOOK AND NOBODY IS EVER GOING TO FIND IT SO FUCK YOU YAKOV FUCK YOU YOUR IDEA IS STUPID
Yakov is looking at me again.
Technically, I can stop writing now and I can just throw this notebook into a trash bin (which is just a few meters away from me, if I should mention that), but Yakov and I made a deal. At first, he didn’t tell me what I had to do, but you know, I live to skate, so I was willing to go through anything just to stay on the ice. I thought he would ask me to teach kids how to skate or watch over his cat (if he has a cat) or go to the spa or whatever his good idea of relaxation is.
BUT NO, HIS IDEA OF “RELAXATION” IS WRITING IN A DIARY WELL FUCK YOU YAKOV NOT EVERYONE HAS YOUR SODDING TASTES
Yakov is shooting me that warning look.
Basically, I have to write in this and manage my anger, or else he’ll make me take a break this season.
I don’t want to take a break, so YOU CAN JUST FUCK OFF, YAKOV.
Signed,
Your Beloved Skater.