if you weren't, then you would not have come here
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it when I can't say anything without having my words misinterpreted somehow, and I hate the unbearable smugness and self-absorbtion of the people all around me, including the one my narrator lives inside, this one, here, in the blue skirt, sitting at a keyboard in a small room with ugly ceiling lamps. I hate her guts. The only solution is to force myself to calm down a little and think of how I don't hate my friend who works on a goat farm and I don't hate the shy, skinny, blond-haired, almost-too-young-to-be-here kid who calls himself Blue, and I don't hate Freesia, who is really quite selfless and humble in a pretty remarkable way for someone barely in her 20's, and I don't hate the librarian with her bat tattoos or her twelve-year-old daughter who likes both old-school punk rock and patriotic songs from the former Soviet Union, and I don't hate whoever put the note in my mailbox that says:
Have a splendid day. Just know that if the day isn't treating you well, there are always people who think you're a wonderfully amazing person, even if they don't speak up often enough.
I like that they used the word "splendid," and I like that I have absolutely no idea who wrote it, or whether it was even intended for me. It didn't have my name on it, just my box number. Maybe someone just goes around putting random nice notes into people's mailboxes. That's a good thought. Maybe a little corny, but it sort of dampens my desire to punch every arrogant person on this campus square in the face. We're children, you know? We can drink beer and have sex and vote in elections, but by our life experiences and by the expectations of our culture and our privileged social class and certainly by the standards of the vast and ancient universe, we are CHILDREN. We are young, young, young, and it's unbecoming for us to pretend otherwise. To act as though we've got any least little thing in this tangled world of string and semaphore figured out.
Sometimes I think I really do need to just stop talking. Take a vow of linguistic abstinence until I figure out how to say what I actually mean and mean what I actually say. And not cry, for heaven's sake, because someone I don't even like got mad at me for saying something they percieved as stupid and insulting. It just makes me look weak and vaguely manipulative. And nobody honestly believes the old "I have seasonal allergies" excuse.