Ororo’s Journal

Current Mood: aggravated

No pain, no gain. That's the only lesson I have come to learn through being myself. Ororo Munroe the "Storm Goddess" (((stops to make outrageously prolonged quotation movements with fingers))). Thanks to my psionic power, I now have a 10-foot hole burned through the ceiling of the history class at Xavier's school. It is entirely not my goal in life to randomly attract lightning when I get frustrated. Of course this time it was rather a good reason to get angry, as Logan had been undergoing his "use-Storm's-desk-as-a-scratching-post" activities again and almost completely scratched off an entire leg. So when I went to casually hop up onto my desk this morning while making non-provocative conversation with Kurt, the whole thing collapsed. Once I was on the ground I could see the whole desk was covered in his signature claw-marks WHY?? I don't know why!! I don't know what his problem is but obviously he needs to be whooped. Needless to say the next thing that followed was a fast approaching rolling cloud of thunder and a bolt of lightning right through the roof of the school.

The horribly jumpy mutant I was with teleported out of sight right away, so I was left alone in my acutely disheveled and trying-to-be distressed state. I then gingerly collected all my fallen articles and left the room. History class was held outdoors which was most difficult because there was a swarm of June bugs. Bobby froze half of them in mid-air, which could have been a good thing had it not distracted the rest of the class from their studies.

There's a work team fixing up the mess I made as I speak, but it will never heal my emotional distaste toward what Wolverine has done. What's worse is he denies it. He denies it!! Oh yes, *I* have bigger claws with which to ruin my ebony desk with, my dear. That was an artifact from Africa and I was most attached to it. I shall never find another like it.

However, since the incident three days ago, I haven't had much time to reminisce until now because Jean and Scott are in a lover's quarrel again and Jean won't leave me alone for the sake of my sanity. "What should I say?" "What should I wear?" "Should I give him the cold shoulder?" I don't know, I don't know, I don't know! She's the psychic around here, not me.

I must now go and supervise the rebuilding of my classroom, so I shall depart. But know this; that I have returned to this place and will start anew in recording the happenings of my life and my innermost thoughts. Because this is my spot, which shall be claimed only by me, so comfortably inaccessible by unneeded claws and brainwaves... these are Ororo Munroe's chronicles; the life of an over-stressed Storm Goddess.

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