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Hmm. The start of my "100 words" entries. It's a perfect time to sign up because I certainly don't have enough to do. (That was sarcasm.) I have my two AP tests coming up, my AP US and AP Chem. AP US should be all right, but Chem is going to kick my ass so hard and then hand it to me, sautéed.. I have review every night this week—most nights I won't be leaving school until 10 pm. On top of that, choir concerts are coming up and I'm still in love with my Spanish teacher, Mr. Friedman.
Wow. I just remembered that yesterday was my May SAT II and I totally forgot to go. I'm pretty much an idiot. I don't mean to get all artsy and pretentious like some of the other entries on this site, but sometimes I feel like my brain is just gone. Maybe it's that time of year when everything just kills. This week is Friedman's birthday and I'm obsessing over whether to get him something, whether if I do, people will know something's going on. I could always give it to him privately, but there's enough of that already. We'll see.
I'll call him J—he's incredible, the way he moves. He was teasing me today. I desperately want to be with him, but every day is full of tests and projects and review for tests…I haven't been with him in a week. I miss him. Is this weird? We're so opposite, but it doesn't even matter. I honestly need him, as cliché as that is. He gave me an article on Noam Chomsky to read today, yuck, what a liberal. I can forgive even that as long as he sticks around. I shouldn't be afraid of that, but I am.
J said something in class today—something about how he loves one of my idiosyncrasies—and everyone laughed because they thought he was making fun of me but I saw a couple of people look twice…I think they had an idea. Offhand, the idiosyncrasy was never admitting I'm wrong. That's hilarious. I'm not sure why my non-AP teachers think that their classes are still important at this point in time. As if their classes were even close to grazing the bottom of my priority list. Honestly, what is our student government for if not for getting teachers off our backs?
Sometimes I wish I could come home and open a letter addressed from my school and not have it be a "congratulations on your outstanding achievement good job you're on the honor roll I'm sure you'll be such a success and isn't life grand" type of letter. Just once, I want to open one of those notices and not get a progress report that sums my blood and sweat and tears into "excellent leadership qualities" , "exceptionally talented", "gives good blow jobs" etc. I'd like something of import to come from the school, and have it be a bad thing.
It is what it is. I've spent what feels like years of my life studying everything from the XYZ Affair to the fucking energy crises, from the Halfway Covenant to the Civil Rights Commission. I'm done. I will try to do well tomorrow, and if I don't do well…well, who I am kidding, I will probably break something. I just spent the last hour reading the September 10th and 11th, 2001, of every 100 Words entries for that month. Reading about the clear split in each of their lives, between sanity and chaos. It still hurts, and I still cry.
I'm done with AP US History! Done! Done! It wasn't that bad. I'm pretty excited to be over with it. I feel like whatever I got, it's what I deserved because I operated to the best of my ability. And if that isn't good enough for College Board, well by God, College Board can kiss my ass. I baked cookies for J's birthday, and that took care of that snafu. Oh, I don't even care anymore, I can just relax. Until AP Chem next week. But AP Chem can rest its weary little head, because I honestly don't care anymore.
Stephen Lynch! I just got home and wow, did I have a "good time". I got to actually meet him, and his brother, and Teich. It was fantastic. Usually I'm such a flake when it comes to high school conversations but I was totally on tonight. They loved me! I always feel so much better whenever I get out of the high school sphere and talk to normal people. It just reminds me that those stupid, Abercrombie, perfectly groomed and made up and idiot girls are simply that. And same for the guys, because they're all alike in Long Island.
I'm still glowing over yesterday. I can't wait to brag about this all on Monday. And make J jealous too, this is full of possibility. But today I got a look at what a hypocrite I am. For Mother's Day, we went to church and I haven't been in forever, but at school I champion the rights of the religious. Now I realize that I hate church. I hate religion's presumption in dictating a style of life. I respect people's desire for stability but there are so many more things I want to do with my life, not involving religion.
If you can have a soulmate, someone who you are destined for in every way, can you also have an anti- soulmate? I have one. For a while it was funny and haha, like, "look at us because we're fighting, and it's really because we're very good friends, but we don't get along, teehee". But the past couple of weeks I've just been like, no. I hate you. And I haven't spoken to him in that time. But today, I think he finally picked up on it and tried to get back into my good graces by…making fun of me. Men.
I am done with AP Chemistry. I am done. That test kicked my ass. It's over, though, and tomorrow we have 90 minutes of doing jackshit. It's awesome. I was thinking, during the test—this is weird—that I really like the seals they give you to close up your booklets. They're white, and they're uber sticky, to guarantee no prying eyes of dirty cheats will ever look upon my multiple choice. Not while I live! Anyway, putting them on, I felt like I was wrapping up the year, like a chapter of my life. Like I was finally done.
Celebrating last night killed me this morning. Stayed home to recover. Am I running out of things to say? My head is giving out on me. My thinking processes have stopped, puttered, run dry. Maybe I'll become one of those inane billboards, running around putting products and people on shout…laughing and happy and slutting it up right with the best of them. Minus 2 pounds for makeup and minus 2 pounds for clothes and " OH MY GOD I am so fat! My thong is so cute." Ugh. I don't want to spend my life in front of a mirror.
Samuel Barber is rolling in his grave. Agnus Dei was the one good piece we were singing tonight at the concert and she went and ruined it. She got the Video class to make us a video accompaniment. To Agnus Dei! That song needs no fucking video! And on top of that, it's a terrible video. It's every terrible cliché you've ever seen in your life. Ducks flying off lakes, into sunsets, past blooming flowers and growing grass and dew drops shining right up your ass. She kills me with her insane experimentalism. Agnus Dei is immortal, but no more.
I've come to question my own morality. Too young? I don't know, the whole pretend/flirt/pretend thing with J has got me crazy. As much as I despise the shit spewing tank holes known as stupid sluts, I can't help but feel that while they pretend to be servicing the whole school—well, I can't exactly say that I…Okay, I hate when girls flirt with teachers. Isn't that hypocritical of me? This entry doesn't make any sense. It's my convoluted way of saying that maybe I shouldn't be with my Spanish teacher. But I want to. I've been good lately, though.
What is it about ending things with a blowout that is so bittersweet? Something important comes to an end with fireworks, and festivities, and such joviality between people that you'd never expect to love or even like… then you do and the whole spirit of "trite" brother/sisterhood becomes real and kills you a little inside when it's over. Someone I barely knew and somewhat disliked before started playing the piano near the end of it. It was the most gorgeous thing I've ever heard in my life. When will I ever have this again? Maybe once more, but maybe never.
Something about staying home alone on a beautiful day is so inherently satisfying. Knowing that you can go out and join the little kids and their parents outside, that only a pane of glass door separates the air conditioned you from the early summer festivities. Choosing to stay inside and watch other people's lives…it holds such power. All you can do is play God and then, when dark falls and there's no one around, you have to look at yourself and wonder why it is that you choose to distance yourself emotionally from other people. Or maybe that's just me.
Thrust…grunt. Thrust…grunt. He pulls in, and out. Slowly, then quickly. I live on a shelf. I live right next to The Catcher in the Rye and The Great Gatsby and In Cold Blood. It feels good here. I feel lost but not alone. Thrust. Grunt. He is done. I finished a long time ago, my fingers clutching his back and his neck in melody with his hips. He buries his face in my hair and inhales. I think he hopes to find something there he remembers, amidst that tangle of sweaty, perfumed hair. He relaxes into me, and we are gods.
Nightmares about being mauled by dogs. It's a bad way to go, I think. I'm putting on the People vs. Knoller case for law class and I'm on the defendant's side. I agree with them but Diane Whipple died such a horrific death I get goose-bumps just thinking about it. Imagine…being slowly killed for 10-20 minutes. That hallway was drenched, soaked in her blood. A third of her was spread up and down in that death trap, the 77 injuries covering every possible surface of her body leaking her spirit into the floor. No one deserves that kind of death.
I'd forgotten what a rush winning is. It's this huge, overwhelming flow of adrenaline and utter emotion. When you work until you sweat, when you pour every inch of your being into something for hours and hours…hey, it feels really good to win. It feels better than really good. It's something like a heavy burning in your chest, something like a smugness of heart and stomach and mind, too. And it doesn't hurt having a cute guy on the side watching you. Okay, so it was the Forensics Tournament. I think we worked a lot harder than athletes or whatnot.
I'm swimming in this amazing emotion…I guess a word for it is "anticipation". But it's romantic anticipation, those couple of days right before a first date with someone you intensely like. I mean, I gave him my number yesterday and he actually called. And he actually wants to go out with me—me! There is no more perfect specimen of what God intended men to be than Tom. He is absolutely gorgeous, and every other good quality of a guy—but not too good. Just bad enough so that I want him. Badly. Finally, a promise of a semi-normal relationship.
Censorship—a tool used by the scared and humorless. I feel like burning something, shooting something, hitting something incredibly hard. Working on my paper for over a year, against every possible threat posed by Administration…and they still think they can get rid of me just by telling me "no". This is going to come back and bite them in the ass because I still believe in free speech, thank you very much. I am sick and tired of school telling me that they are restricting my rights for my own good. For the "general welfare of the students". That's lies.
I can't keep up with all of this. It's so wonderful, and unfamiliar and weird and new. He's not like J at all, he's completely different…he's amazing. He's good natured, funny, he thinks I'm funny…I don't know, it could very well be just that he's new to me and so I like him better right now. Just like when you get a new puppy and your old dog doesn't know quite what to do with himself because you're not paying as much attention to him as you are to this puppy. Tom wouldn't even kiss me on the first date.
Buzz, buzz…it feels like we're all pointless bees with this onslaught of heat. We buzz around, seemingly aimlessly although we think we have a purpose…we don't. How annoying it would be to die and find out that everything you worried about, fretted over, stressed on was all ridiculously unimportant? Wouldn't it feel terrible? We try to pretend that what we do is vital, that other people care about what we think and that the universe cares about what we do. It's all a lie…for a while we believe the illusion, but it's only temporary. Some days it all hits you.
What a feeling, knowing that you're good at something! When you find your thing, the thing you were meant to do…there's nothing better. Well, love factors in there somewhere, but, honestly, who doesn't like to feel good about themselves? To know that there is something out there that you can do so well, you put others doing the same thing to shame. It helps if you're competitive, I guess. To show up other people takes guts and skill. It's certainly a great feeling to know you've totally blown people away. And all this good feeling on a Monday, too. Wow.
It all crashes down eventually. You can't live like that forever, you know. Sooner or later that will end. No one can be that happy. No one's life is perfect for long. Don't get your hopes up. This probably won't last. Murphy's Law. Just when things start going good, they go bad. Just keep saying these clichés and mantras over and over to yourself and sooner or later they have to be true. I've always believed them to be true. I've never had a reason to doubt them. Until now, because cynicism can take a backseat to what I'm feeling.
There's something about getting my hair dyed. It's like getting a new identity. Something about it feels so surreptitious, like I'm a secret agent going under cover or something. It feels amazing—well, obviously there's something utterly sensual about getting your head massaged and hair played with. Tom and Josh both play with my hair and it's like this guy intuition about what girls like. On a different level, I'm sure it's nice for them too—some guys have a thing about hair. Anyway, in that final moment when I turn and look at myself and I'm new…oh, it's liberating.
When I came out of my house this morning, the ground was fresh with last night's thunderstorm. Storms are fantastic. The smell of power, of burnt air, of imminent danger…it's inspirational. It's mesmerizing. I walked out of my driveway and right in front of it were four dead birds. They had obviously been hit by lightning and fallen out of the tree above me. I looked at them, repulsed, but drawn close by m all too human curiosity. Those birds had their guts strewn everywhere and would never live their lives. In that moment I saw myself as those birds.
The feeling of work piling up is not a great one. I'm not a go-getter, I'm a procrastinator, and when I have a lot of work, I have even less incentive to start it. It eventually gets done, but sort of in a half assed way that I'm never proud of. I feel bad getting a good grade on it, but I feel angry if I don't get a good grade on it. I should probably just do it early, but that requires a commitment of mind, soul, and body to something that I honestly don't care about any more.
Wake up call today. All my hopes and expectations for this weekend of hanging out with a smart, cool, fun friend of mine from the past kind of fizzled. I fully expected her to be so smart, and understand everything, and not be like these idiots out on Long Island. I still like her, but she hangs with a crowd of people that are terrible people. They are disgusting, even more disgusting than out here—as if I ever thought I could say that. White trash can be so gross…I honestly don't know why she would subject herself to that.
To know that you should be part of a different era, a different time, is really difficult. To pine for the wholesome times of the 50's and want the same manners and hospitality to be exhibited by everyone. Before we were corrupted, that's the time I belong in. But I can't go back there. I'm stuck in this time where hosts don't give a shit what their guests want, or what kind of unhappiness they are causing their guests. What happened? Where did cheek kisses go? And good impressions? And Southern hospitality? How do we regain that? We need it.
A month has gone by. A month full of different emotions and ups and downs. What a catharsis this has been, this writing. It's exorcised spirits I never knew I had and never wanted inside me. Do I stop? Do I keep going? I think I might be scared of what I find if I go further. Looking back, it's all so real, my writings is so gritty…is that me? I guess it's the me that we try to keep away. But late at night, trying to keep a deadline, rubbing your eyes…it all comes out, I guess. Goodbye, May.
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