Dear Diary,
Just kidding. I don't have a diary, but I was having trouble coming up with a beginning. I actually have a journal with a total of three entries spaced out over a good 17 months. I used to keep a journal regularly from the time I was a small boy of 5. I couldn't write effectively so I dictated to my Father and he would painstakingly record every word exactly as it left my mouth. This helped ensure complete historical accuracy. It's interesting to go back and see what exactly was going through 5 year old self. A lot of entries were just recaps of my days adventures which included activities such as, watching my cat, counting the stones in the walkway, eating chef-boyardee, and losing the legos that my brother specifically told me not to play with but I did anyway. A lot of the things I recorded were very arbitrary but every so often I would delve deeper into my inner thoughts and emotions, like this gem from April 17th, 1998:
"Today I thought about a lot of things. But mostly school because school is stupid, kind of like Karen."
This passage made me happy to reread because it reminded me of two things, 1. I hated school, 2. I hated karen, and 3. I was capable of deep thinking. (I realize that I said it reminded me of two things and I put down three. It's what we in the buisness call "comic relief" What buisness you ask? Funny Buisness.)
My thoughts were very clear and easy to express at that age, and that is something I am currently not capable of. Recently I have had a lot different thoughts and ideas running through my head but it's all been very confusing and conflicting. I call it my contemplation constipation, or contemplationstipation for short. I think it is because I haven't gone to my thinking place in a while. (Side Note: Never let anybody else into your thinking place. It creates conflicting thoughts and awkward conversations.)
I tend to cope with these contemplationstipations by taking a lot of naps, but that doesn't always work because now my mother doesn't let me go into my room after school to "do homework" because what I actually do is fall asleep. I take naps anywhere I can get a spare space large enought to lay down. One time I was trying to fit myself into one of those suit bags but I fell asleep in the attempt and stayed that way for a good four hours. Anyway, what naps do is help clear my mind for a while so those clogging thoughts have an opprotunity to rest and not bother me. On the other hand, whenever I take naps I'm always cranky afterwards, and that doesn't help when trying to interact with other people and convince them that you don't hate life.
I'm not really sure what message I am trying to get across, because of the whole constipation thing, but I guess I can end here. I really don't have anything else. So just like I said on October 18, 1997: "I hope tomorrow is better because today I did not feel good. Oh, and I forgot, I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch and it didn't taste good."
23 February 2010
15 February 2010
The Great Escape
Valentines day is a fantastic day for napping. Nothing eases the pain of loneliness and depression, as good as being unconsious does. Sleep is a great way to get out of things, like important desicions for instance. Anytime anyone asks you something important you can just say "I'll sleep on it" which is complete bull crap because I do my worst thinking when I'm asleep, in fact I don't do any thinking. I'm not even sure it is possible to think while asleep. I wish I was as smart in first grade as I am now. Actually, let me rephrase that, because I think I was smarter in first grade than I am now, What I meant was, I wish I had known about the "sleeping as a defense" theory back then cause I think it would have saved a lot of emotional heartache. Allow me to explain:
It was a rainy morning in April during first grade ,please take note of the fact that it was April, and Junior Chorus practice had just ended just like it did every Tuesday morning. In case you were wondering, I was a soprano...along with everyone else, except for one Alto,but he had been held back in the third grade. Anyway, I was retreiving my backpack which was shaped like a baseball, when I was approached by Karen.
In first grade, I did not like people, especially girls, and especially Karen. My reccess activities included, walking the perimeter of the playground several times, being the hula hoop champion, talking to myself, and coming up with ways to weird the other kids out so they wouldn't talk to me. So needless to say I was very wary when Karen approached me with a paper something in her hand.
She stopped right in front of me and I think I tried to move around her but she moved to block my path. She handed me the homemade card she was holding and asked, "Will you be my valentine?" I opened up the paper and sure enough, it was a homemade Valentine card.
I had no idea how to react to this. Nothing in my six years of existence had prepared me for this moment. Looking back, I realize that what I should have said was. "I'll sleep on it" but I was much more logically practical than that because what I did say was, "Save it for Valentines day." Which is a very cold and heartless thing to say, but then again, at that age I was very cold and heartless. and also it was the middle of friggen April.
Luckily i never had to find out if she really did save it for valentines day because by the next year she had moved away.
But that doesn't mean there were no lasting effects from the incident. Ever since that day I have never had a request to be a Valentine. It's like the curse of the Bambino, (except that curse was broken when the 2004 Red Sox won the world series) . Which is perfectly okay with me, because to be honest, I still sort of don't like people and I still do weird things so they won't talk to me.
But if you really want to be my Valentine, just submit a request through my secretary and I promise you...I will sleep on it.
It was a rainy morning in April during first grade ,please take note of the fact that it was April, and Junior Chorus practice had just ended just like it did every Tuesday morning. In case you were wondering, I was a soprano...along with everyone else, except for one Alto,but he had been held back in the third grade. Anyway, I was retreiving my backpack which was shaped like a baseball, when I was approached by Karen.
In first grade, I did not like people, especially girls, and especially Karen. My reccess activities included, walking the perimeter of the playground several times, being the hula hoop champion, talking to myself, and coming up with ways to weird the other kids out so they wouldn't talk to me. So needless to say I was very wary when Karen approached me with a paper something in her hand.
She stopped right in front of me and I think I tried to move around her but she moved to block my path. She handed me the homemade card she was holding and asked, "Will you be my valentine?" I opened up the paper and sure enough, it was a homemade Valentine card.
I had no idea how to react to this. Nothing in my six years of existence had prepared me for this moment. Looking back, I realize that what I should have said was. "I'll sleep on it" but I was much more logically practical than that because what I did say was, "Save it for Valentines day." Which is a very cold and heartless thing to say, but then again, at that age I was very cold and heartless. and also it was the middle of friggen April.
Luckily i never had to find out if she really did save it for valentines day because by the next year she had moved away.
But that doesn't mean there were no lasting effects from the incident. Ever since that day I have never had a request to be a Valentine. It's like the curse of the Bambino, (except that curse was broken when the 2004 Red Sox won the world series) . Which is perfectly okay with me, because to be honest, I still sort of don't like people and I still do weird things so they won't talk to me.
But if you really want to be my Valentine, just submit a request through my secretary and I promise you...I will sleep on it.
03 February 2010
Jerkface Magee
I would like to meet the jerk that decided middle school was a good idea. No such person probably exists because Junior High is sort of necessary in order to bridge the gap between the innocence of elementary school and the cesspool that is High school. I remember the first day of 7th grade at Rosemont middle school and it’s not a happy memory. I don’t know why, but I thought it would be a good idea to wear on of my Dad’s old/huge sweaters. I looked completely ridiculous and I didn’t realize it at the time but I think I liked wearing my Dad’s old sweaters because they hid my fat boy breasts that I denied existed. I remember lying in bed the night before the first day of school and coming up with this awesome one liner that I was going to zing at my Father as I got out of the car in the morning. As he dropped me off I said “You may want to call the local morgues and compare prices.” I said it all somber and dead-pan and I thought it was hilarious. Let’s just say that that moment was the high-point of the next to years. The whole sweater wearing thing was just the first of many mistakes that I made in my middle school career. Another was overanalyzing every single interaction I had with females. I was a mess. Anytime a girl spoke to me or acknowledge me I would pick the moment apart and leave nothing to speculation. I remember one time, this one girl waved to me during passing period and it opened up a whole floodgate of confusion. “Why did she wave to me? Does she like me? Why would she wave to me if she doesn’t like me? Was she just being friendly? Did I eat that donut I put in my backpack? Should I take this relationship to the next level?” These were the sort of thoughts I preoccupied myself with on a daily basis. They never amounted to anything, surprisingly.
I was very impressionable at that age I think and very meek when it came to my relationships with my teachers. I think what made middle school the worst was the mean teachers. I had one experience in 8th grade that gets me upset just thinking about it. It was in English class and as a group of three or four students our teacher was having us prepare a debate on abortion. Why the deuce she was having us debate abortion, I have no idea, but then again, she was related Satan. Anyway, as members of a group we each had a job to due, something we were in charge of. Me and this guy, Eric were on the pro-life side of the argument and this chick, Leanne was on the pro-choice side. Leanne is sort of the co-antagonist of this story and to understand it, you have to realize that Leanne was the kind of kid who would carry the lunch monitors clipboard and rat you out for anything. She was a real pill, believe me. Anyway, the day of our presentation came and the day before, Leanne had taken our entire notes home because she said she didn’t trust us to not lose them. I didn’t object because I figured that she was probably right. But lo and behold our time came to present and the notes were nowhere to be found.
“Oh my gosh! I lost them!” squealed Leanne.
Fantastic. The show had to go on and interestingly enough, Leanne had no trouble in firing off her arguments while Eric and I just stood there sounding like fools. I was pretty upset at Leanne for forgetting the notes, which I’m pretty sure she did on purpose, and as we were leaving the class I said to Eric,
“You know, if we fail, its Leanne’s fault.” I said this because it was true.
Eric nodded in agreement and we left the class.
Fast forward 24 hours to the next English class. We had just finished an excellent lesson on why we should worship the devil and were getting ready to leave when the teach, we’ll call he Jerkface, called Eric and I to the front of the room and asked us to stay after class. “Oh no” I thought, “We are screwed.”
I wasn’t even sure what for though; I had done nothing that I could think of to warrant an after class meeting with Jerkface. Everybody else filed out of the class so the only people left in the room were Me, Eric, Jerfkface, and Leanne. Jerkface started off like this:
“Yesterday I heard something that I could not believe I heard.(I nodded my head) And it came from your mouth (she pointed at me). Do you mind repeating what you said?”
I had no idea what she was talking about so I just shrugged my shoulders. Just as you never run from a mountain lion, you never shrug your shoulders at a teacher who is yelling at you. She continued fiercely:
“You said that if you failed it was Leannes fault, is that correct? (nod) You made me sick to my stomach and I couldn’t even sleep last night because of the hateful words I heard you say.”
She went on and on yelling very angrily at me mostly and went on to say “shame on you” several dozen times. She made me apologize to Leanne who just stood there with a smug look on her face and she also made me verbally say that if we failed that it was my fault. I would like to take the time now to officially redact my apology. I am not sorry at all. I still stand by my original statement. To hear Jerkface going off at me you’d think I had openly blamed black people and Jews for our terrible presentation. The fact that she got so angry over an offhand comment that only a retarded person would take offense at is what makes me most upset.
This was not the first or last time I would be yelled at in middle school for absolutely nothing but those are different stories for different times. I have a lot more stories from middle school, it was a very volatile time in my life, and I am a very bitter person sometimes, so you can count on reading them in the near future.
I should probably let experiences like this one go…but that’s no fun now, is it?
I was very impressionable at that age I think and very meek when it came to my relationships with my teachers. I think what made middle school the worst was the mean teachers. I had one experience in 8th grade that gets me upset just thinking about it. It was in English class and as a group of three or four students our teacher was having us prepare a debate on abortion. Why the deuce she was having us debate abortion, I have no idea, but then again, she was related Satan. Anyway, as members of a group we each had a job to due, something we were in charge of. Me and this guy, Eric were on the pro-life side of the argument and this chick, Leanne was on the pro-choice side. Leanne is sort of the co-antagonist of this story and to understand it, you have to realize that Leanne was the kind of kid who would carry the lunch monitors clipboard and rat you out for anything. She was a real pill, believe me. Anyway, the day of our presentation came and the day before, Leanne had taken our entire notes home because she said she didn’t trust us to not lose them. I didn’t object because I figured that she was probably right. But lo and behold our time came to present and the notes were nowhere to be found.
“Oh my gosh! I lost them!” squealed Leanne.
Fantastic. The show had to go on and interestingly enough, Leanne had no trouble in firing off her arguments while Eric and I just stood there sounding like fools. I was pretty upset at Leanne for forgetting the notes, which I’m pretty sure she did on purpose, and as we were leaving the class I said to Eric,
“You know, if we fail, its Leanne’s fault.” I said this because it was true.
Eric nodded in agreement and we left the class.
Fast forward 24 hours to the next English class. We had just finished an excellent lesson on why we should worship the devil and were getting ready to leave when the teach, we’ll call he Jerkface, called Eric and I to the front of the room and asked us to stay after class. “Oh no” I thought, “We are screwed.”
I wasn’t even sure what for though; I had done nothing that I could think of to warrant an after class meeting with Jerkface. Everybody else filed out of the class so the only people left in the room were Me, Eric, Jerfkface, and Leanne. Jerkface started off like this:
“Yesterday I heard something that I could not believe I heard.(I nodded my head) And it came from your mouth (she pointed at me). Do you mind repeating what you said?”
I had no idea what she was talking about so I just shrugged my shoulders. Just as you never run from a mountain lion, you never shrug your shoulders at a teacher who is yelling at you. She continued fiercely:
“You said that if you failed it was Leannes fault, is that correct? (nod) You made me sick to my stomach and I couldn’t even sleep last night because of the hateful words I heard you say.”
She went on and on yelling very angrily at me mostly and went on to say “shame on you” several dozen times. She made me apologize to Leanne who just stood there with a smug look on her face and she also made me verbally say that if we failed that it was my fault. I would like to take the time now to officially redact my apology. I am not sorry at all. I still stand by my original statement. To hear Jerkface going off at me you’d think I had openly blamed black people and Jews for our terrible presentation. The fact that she got so angry over an offhand comment that only a retarded person would take offense at is what makes me most upset.
This was not the first or last time I would be yelled at in middle school for absolutely nothing but those are different stories for different times. I have a lot more stories from middle school, it was a very volatile time in my life, and I am a very bitter person sometimes, so you can count on reading them in the near future.
I should probably let experiences like this one go…but that’s no fun now, is it?
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