A little homework
As much as I say I hated high school, I admit things were easier then. I could justify acting like a high school girl because I was one. Now, with a year and a half of college behind me, this emo love sick girl act has got to go. I think and talk about him constantly, have imagined marrying him one too many times, and worse, I have started displaying attention-seeking behavior. All of this adds up to badly written Nicholas Sparks novel. Glad to know I have already started working on the cancer.
Despite popular belief, and when I say popular I mean what some of my “friends” have been “concerned” enough to say to my face, I don’t hate myself, and I am generally a happy person. Everyone lies. This behavior and way of thought, this obsessive musing, the fact that as I type this in a black Word document I can already tell you it will end up on livejournal, I do hate this; I loathe it. Everyone lies just a little.
Since when did I need to equate my happiness with how much I time I spent with him today? Pathetic isn’t the right word, but it will have to suffice.
Hidden behind my false maturity-my mothering, my pseudo- intellectual conversations where I attempt to fool myself into thinking I am as smart as I want to be- I am just a girl in high school. Do you like me? Check yes or no.
Relationships are complicated (that’s deep). If they were easy everyone would be the Clevers. In reality June was an alcoholic, and Wallie was fucking Eddie.
So I can’t have a relationship: So I cut myself off from him. Literally. The blood is still on the floor, but that’s how this story is supposed to end. A martyr isn’t a martyr until blood is on the floor, on the world, convinced this will change something- anything. In the end these martyrs may be famous, but more importantly they end their story with sympathy. Sympathy legitimately bought with blood on the floor or a burning stake. When I say more importantly I mean fucking ridiculous. Pathetic isn’t the right word, but it is.
People live their lives in contradictions. Everyone lies.
I want to die, but what I really want is to commit suicide so years from now people can still be fucked up thinking about how they could have saved me. The physiatrists will love me.
I want to live so I can die happy. There is nothing happy about death. I learned that when the fucking spider died and the pig cried.
I want to fall in love and get married so I can fuck the next door neighbor in his wife’s bed.
If my life story will never make sense why do I, Sandra Dee, desperately want to control the ending? Tell me the end of the story! Does the girl become a martyr for her cause? Will they learn about her in school, reading a textbook page full of sympathy and nobility? Will she be a contradiction? Let me ruin the ending for you: all the characters die.
Despite popular belief, and when I say popular I mean what some of my “friends” have been “concerned” enough to say to my face, I don’t hate myself, and I am generally a happy person. Everyone lies. This behavior and way of thought, this obsessive musing, the fact that as I type this in a black Word document I can already tell you it will end up on livejournal, I do hate this; I loathe it. Everyone lies just a little.
Since when did I need to equate my happiness with how much I time I spent with him today? Pathetic isn’t the right word, but it will have to suffice.
Hidden behind my false maturity-my mothering, my pseudo- intellectual conversations where I attempt to fool myself into thinking I am as smart as I want to be- I am just a girl in high school. Do you like me? Check yes or no.
Relationships are complicated (that’s deep). If they were easy everyone would be the Clevers. In reality June was an alcoholic, and Wallie was fucking Eddie.
So I can’t have a relationship: So I cut myself off from him. Literally. The blood is still on the floor, but that’s how this story is supposed to end. A martyr isn’t a martyr until blood is on the floor, on the world, convinced this will change something- anything. In the end these martyrs may be famous, but more importantly they end their story with sympathy. Sympathy legitimately bought with blood on the floor or a burning stake. When I say more importantly I mean fucking ridiculous. Pathetic isn’t the right word, but it is.
People live their lives in contradictions. Everyone lies.
I want to die, but what I really want is to commit suicide so years from now people can still be fucked up thinking about how they could have saved me. The physiatrists will love me.
I want to live so I can die happy. There is nothing happy about death. I learned that when the fucking spider died and the pig cried.
I want to fall in love and get married so I can fuck the next door neighbor in his wife’s bed.
If my life story will never make sense why do I, Sandra Dee, desperately want to control the ending? Tell me the end of the story! Does the girl become a martyr for her cause? Will they learn about her in school, reading a textbook page full of sympathy and nobility? Will she be a contradiction? Let me ruin the ending for you: all the characters die.