oh stuff and stuff.
I remember the days when this thing was my life. All the kids are gone! MYSPACE IS CONSUMING OUR FUTURE.
oh well.
I just have some minor things to clear up.
1. I don't enjoy rumors. I quit the drama a long time ago.
2. I don't enjoy two-faced people. I'm better than that.
3. I have friends. Friends keep you in check.
4. I'm not pregnant. I've had a million people come up to me and ask me if I am. No. Fuck off.
5. I just want to give you a little hypothetical scenario here:
I was crazy about Arnar, right? Like, unexplained-infatuation, weird. I freaked myself out. It was complete madness. He didn't want a relationship. Understandable. I get it.
So I don't see him for awhile. Its a good thing. I move on, I'm fine. I find someone absolutely perfect.
But I'm not completely fine. I wasn't 100% let go of Arnar. I can't explain why I was so attached, I just was. So imagine my feelings when I walk into Orchestra, and Cindy Ashleman, a girl I haven't been too fond of the last couple years, walks in with Arnar's sweatshirt.
"Is that Arnar's sweatshirt?" I ask.
"Yeah," She giggles, "I've been there the last 4 nights."
That sucks. Ouchouchouch. When you hear that some girl stays the night at some guy's house, you assume they have sex. You just do. The first person I see out of orchestra is Stevie Rogers. A girl I love and confide in. I tell her my story and how much it sucks and how upset I am, and blahblahblah. {In NO WAY is this Stevie Rogers' fault. I love that girl to death}.
Some rumor gets back to Cindy that I've been spreading STUUFFF about her and Arnar. Spreading? No. I was upset. I needed someone to talk to. I don't talk about it, besides that. I'm just hurt.
Some weeks go by: Solo and Ensemble happens. Cindy says, "Let's go practice at Arnar's house!" Whatever, I can handle this. It's not a big deal. But, man, what a way to shove it in my face. Not only that, but I get ditched for 4 hours, with my cello and music in Cindy's car, and my purse and clothes at Arnar's house. It's okay. I'm still fine at this point.
Some days later, and I have a late period. I'm scared shitless. I had signed up to run for president, and I was really excited about it. I was really not excited about having a baby in high school. After class one day, I'm crying at the piano out of frustration. Cindy sees me, and asks me, very kindly and genuinely what was bothering me. I trusted her. For a split second, I let go of any baggage that was in our past, and I confided in her, and told her. After that, I started having second thoughts. Should I have told her? Should I have kept my mouth shut? Probably. Then I thought, You know what, if she was in my situation, I wouldn't tell a soul. That's way too low.
I was wrong. I was way wrong. Cindy tells everyone that I'm pregnant. Everyone. She even tells the other guy who is running against me for president to use it as leverage. She tells my close friends and she tells other people to spread it to everyone they know. She plays the message I left her, while I'm hysterically crying,to MY friends.
You tell me if that is spiteful or coldhearted? Tell me that. And give me reasons and facts. And tell me how many times that I have tried to cheer you up? or have stressed myself out because I was convinced you were going to kill yourself? Or have retried being your friend over and over, even when you shove it back into my face? Or how many times I believed you were going to clean yourself up and start a clean slate? AND how many times you claimed no one cared about you, when every single one of your friends would fight for you? Don't you ever wonder why you walk around the school by yourself? You don't have anymore friends. You've driven everyone away from you. Not to mention your little addiction. Don't get me wrong, I love to have a good time and party, like the next person. But I have my shit together. I have a plan. I'm going to graduate. I have an amazing family and a wonderful boyfriend and an awesome job. I preform at venues all over Seattle. I have close friends. I have a cd coming out. I have a Life. You should get one too, instead of attempting to screw everyone else's up.
oh well.
I just have some minor things to clear up.
1. I don't enjoy rumors. I quit the drama a long time ago.
2. I don't enjoy two-faced people. I'm better than that.
3. I have friends. Friends keep you in check.
4. I'm not pregnant. I've had a million people come up to me and ask me if I am. No. Fuck off.
5. I just want to give you a little hypothetical scenario here:
I was crazy about Arnar, right? Like, unexplained-infatuation, weird. I freaked myself out. It was complete madness. He didn't want a relationship. Understandable. I get it.
So I don't see him for awhile. Its a good thing. I move on, I'm fine. I find someone absolutely perfect.
But I'm not completely fine. I wasn't 100% let go of Arnar. I can't explain why I was so attached, I just was. So imagine my feelings when I walk into Orchestra, and Cindy Ashleman, a girl I haven't been too fond of the last couple years, walks in with Arnar's sweatshirt.
"Is that Arnar's sweatshirt?" I ask.
"Yeah," She giggles, "I've been there the last 4 nights."
That sucks. Ouchouchouch. When you hear that some girl stays the night at some guy's house, you assume they have sex. You just do. The first person I see out of orchestra is Stevie Rogers. A girl I love and confide in. I tell her my story and how much it sucks and how upset I am, and blahblahblah. {In NO WAY is this Stevie Rogers' fault. I love that girl to death}.
Some rumor gets back to Cindy that I've been spreading STUUFFF about her and Arnar. Spreading? No. I was upset. I needed someone to talk to. I don't talk about it, besides that. I'm just hurt.
Some weeks go by: Solo and Ensemble happens. Cindy says, "Let's go practice at Arnar's house!" Whatever, I can handle this. It's not a big deal. But, man, what a way to shove it in my face. Not only that, but I get ditched for 4 hours, with my cello and music in Cindy's car, and my purse and clothes at Arnar's house. It's okay. I'm still fine at this point.
Some days later, and I have a late period. I'm scared shitless. I had signed up to run for president, and I was really excited about it. I was really not excited about having a baby in high school. After class one day, I'm crying at the piano out of frustration. Cindy sees me, and asks me, very kindly and genuinely what was bothering me. I trusted her. For a split second, I let go of any baggage that was in our past, and I confided in her, and told her. After that, I started having second thoughts. Should I have told her? Should I have kept my mouth shut? Probably. Then I thought, You know what, if she was in my situation, I wouldn't tell a soul. That's way too low.
I was wrong. I was way wrong. Cindy tells everyone that I'm pregnant. Everyone. She even tells the other guy who is running against me for president to use it as leverage. She tells my close friends and she tells other people to spread it to everyone they know. She plays the message I left her, while I'm hysterically crying,to MY friends.
You tell me if that is spiteful or coldhearted? Tell me that. And give me reasons and facts. And tell me how many times that I have tried to cheer you up? or have stressed myself out because I was convinced you were going to kill yourself? Or have retried being your friend over and over, even when you shove it back into my face? Or how many times I believed you were going to clean yourself up and start a clean slate? AND how many times you claimed no one cared about you, when every single one of your friends would fight for you? Don't you ever wonder why you walk around the school by yourself? You don't have anymore friends. You've driven everyone away from you. Not to mention your little addiction. Don't get me wrong, I love to have a good time and party, like the next person. But I have my shit together. I have a plan. I'm going to graduate. I have an amazing family and a wonderful boyfriend and an awesome job. I preform at venues all over Seattle. I have close friends. I have a cd coming out. I have a Life. You should get one too, instead of attempting to screw everyone else's up.