Going Insane. That's What I Am.

I can't deal with this. I can't. It's like an alternate universe--one that I saw coming, mind you, but still an alternate universe.

I can't do this.

Of Private Schools and Politics

I don't know what I'm doing. I honestly don't. And I am so jealous of those that do.

At my school, which is very small, there are three groups: Those That Have Instantly Recognizable Names (preachers' children, older siblings as predecessors), Those That Do Not Have Instantly Recognizable Names But Have Still Carved A Place For Themselves In The Social Hierarchy, and Those That Simply Are Unimportant And Will Fade Away Instantaneously After Their Graduation. And I don't know where I am anymore. I'm not related to anyone important. My older sister hasn't graced the school with her presence, giving me a comfortable cushion of friends that allows me to be a total witch to those who won't help me in my life. But I'm not sure if I fit in category number two or number three.

And Dane doesn't get it. No no no. I'm sure he is, at the moment, telling June that I'm delusional. Yes, Dane. You went to a high public high school where not everyone knew each other.

I am so frickin' frustrated.

God! I hate being a teenager.

That's the thing. Your insights are dismissed as typical drama and horomones, as are your actually pertinent issues.

I've always loved PostSecret, so here we go.

Isn't It Ironic...Dontcha Think?

Okay. If I don't get this off my chest soon, it's gonna sit there and smolder and I'm gonna go paranoid. (Go? I'm already there.)

In the world of Facebook that I occasionally frequent, there is a wonderful application called Honesty Box. I'm pretty sure that it and it only is responsible for most of the high school dramas that go on in this country-slash-world. Up until now, the only experiences I've had with it have been a word of congratulation, a few messages from Anne that I rolled my eyes at, and a very sweet compliment that made my night. But tonight, I received a very short thing that stated that, in essence, I am a snob. And I'm pretty sure I know who sent it....at least, it's narrowed down to two people. Mia? Esmerelda? Will either of you two cultured people volunteer yourselves?

It's just ironic, really. I feel like more often than not I'm on the receiving end of snobbery. I've never been extremely popular, and I equate that to the fact that I'm.......I don't know. Different.

Maybe it's true! Maybe I am aloof and that's why people and I have issues!

You know, I catch myself being inwardly uppity. I mean, I like clothes and class and their variants. Add that to the fact that I suck--suck--suck!--SUUUCK!--in social situations and the equation leads to the conclusion that I am, in fact, a frigid, self-centered witch too caught up in herself to care about other people.

Which, P.S., is a lie.

Now, let me get back to caring ONLY about myself!

........you know, I'm just drawing this conclusion from my head here. Half the stuff up there (oh, more than half----five-sixths, easily) is purely from my own imagination. But I'm pretty sure it's true.

Sad thing is, I like Mia. She's extremely cool. And I don't really know Esmerelda, but I think I'd maybe like her if I did. Maybe.

But I'll never know, since I'm a snob.

And for the record--Esmerelda, Mia? What are you???

It is really not fair. I can't find my middle ground here. It's either snob or reject. ARRRRRRGH!

Maybe they aren't. Maybe the only thing keeping me from fully belonging to a big group is me. Which really bites, if you think about it. Self-sabotage, anyone?

Now this is bugging me.

I don't want to get hurt. Is that cliche? Yes. But I'm not talking "hurt" in some deep, profound way. I'm just talking about the typical teenager "hurt." You know the kind. "They're not talking to me!" "She said I look like crap!" "Why are they always talking about me?"

Oh my God. I am a snob. I do talk about people. Everyone has a nickname, everyone gets a comment, everyone...oh geez.

But I'm not!

Oyyyyyyyyyyy. I have no clue what I'm doing anymore.

Just Like That!

ABBA. Oh my, have I fallen in love with you all over again.

Backstory (because everything has to have one)?

My aunt Cosetta had one of ABBA's early CDs. And she had a CD player in her SUV, and that was, when I was eleven, a big thing. So she played "Ring Ring" for me, both the English and Swedish versions. So I borrowed it, and the sick thing is, I never listened to anything but those two songs and maybe...I'm not sure. Maybe something else? But I was very picky about my music when I was younger. Seriously. The only things on my Titanic soundtrack that were played were "My Heart Will Go On," "Take Her To Sea, Mr. Murdoch," and "Southampton." Possibly "Rose" also.

But I digress.

So back to ABBA. I enjoyed them, sorta forgot about them, and then when I was either thirteen or fourteen...thirteen (geez, I was friggin' young!), I got The Definitive Collection (and yes, I had to open up Media Player to find out what it was called---I'm being truthful all the way here). It kept me company on a band trip with The Band From Hell With Decent Talent. And I loved it. Seriously. "SOS" was one of my first favorites, was were "People Need Love," "The Name of the Game," "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!" and "On And On And On." And last week I got "Arrival," and oooooooh. It's making me so happy and sad and both of the above at once. It's kinda telling my life story, which is something I absolutely love.

And they're Swedish! I'm waiting to find out if I'm related to them or not. Maybe Benny. He looks like he'd fit in my family.

A Day Of Days

Okay. There are times that the Conservative Christian School makes me want to go nuts. But it didn't today. Every single class (well, with the exception of español) made me happy. List?

Singing Class With Dane

Our. Sopranos. Are. Terrible.

Our. Tenors. Are. Non-Existent.

Our. Basses. Screw. Off. WAY. TOO. MUCH.

Our. Altos. Are. Fabulous.

(You can guess which one I am.)

Science Class With The Insane Professor

I didn't totally kill our test. A fun story was told and we got off topic.

Number Class With Dane

Okay, this made me a little mad. Answering questions with questions is....annoying. But I'm almost done with our uberly-long assignment, even though I'm some thousand dollars off. And he felt bad that he made me mad, which is an achievement in itself.

Language Class With Señorita Enthusiasm

....sometimes I wish we'd just copy devotions.

But then again I don't. I've learned a lot from my years with her.

I don't know.

Oh well. She called me "Nita," which means beautiful, which made my year. And I like her clothes and she likes mine, so I'm not one to whine. (But I do anyway.)

History Class With Mr. "Pronunciation? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Po...nun...criati...on"

Well, I sat at the back of the room, wrote a drabble that was basically pointless and his unique turn of the phrase caught up with him.

Food Time With Half The Student Body And A Few Teachers

Good food, good company, and not much accomplished for our promenade that is (not) quickly approaching.

God Class With Pastor Sarcasm

Oh geez. Fun. Fun fun fun. My section is the best. We have these amazingly good conversations that are usually on topic. We get stuff done. Mostly.

Math Class With Mr. I-Can't-Decide-If-I-Like-You

I hate math, all right?

Well, that's a lie. I hate the correcting of math, which is when I get thirteen and three-fifths problems out of thirty wrong. (Speaking of, I still have to do my assignment. Ugh. ...oh well. It can wait.) I like doing the stuff that I know how to. (Oh, this thing tonight is gonna take forever. Lots of numbers.) But it was actually fun today.

Study Hour With Dane

I never actually study during this time. I rant, I play, I try to figure out our friendship, I'm snarky. Today was no exception.

"American Literzzzzzzzzz---Huh?" Class With Mr. Hot And Cold

And that title doesn't really fit, because today was enjoyable. Except Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine can shut up. The stupid inverted sentences and politcal rants about things that were, yes, important during that time but sleeping pill-worthy today (and I know, that's such a teenager-y thing to say). But thanks to some hyper (read as: on crack!) back row dwellers, it was memorable.

It was, in a word: fun.