I finally finished White Oleander. My final impression is much better than the initial one, and even the mid-read one. I like it much better than the movie because it seems that the people involved with the film deleted the book's essence. They cut the theme in half and twisted it to be something that doesn't make a lot of sense. I still don't think it's that great though.
For one thing, Janet Fitch described L.A. as "an archipelago of pain" which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, no matter how I tried to make it so. It just doesn't. I hate it. I really, really hate it.
She also described every blue bathrobe mentioned as "a blue, seersucker bathrobe" which annoys me to no end. I can barely stand to think of it.
All white bathrobes are described as "white, terry bathrobe."
There are other things, but I would have to go through the book, find them and copy them. Not in the mood.
In other news, I feel rather disheartened. My spirits had been quite lifted for the week, which is odd because I go to school during the week and hate it. I suppose I don't really hate it so much. Anyway, my mood has not been good for quite some time, so I was happy to feel less unhappy for a while. Temporary.
I told my mom I want to go to Spain because of all the neat things there. She went on and on and on about things totally unrelated to Spain in reply. What the fuck? It's not like it matters, really, because I probably won't bother to try to go. The point is that my mom is silly.
I feel sick.