Something about this makes my mind work - like it did when I was young and normal. I can't explain it, but it's freeing - like new shoes and the bottom of my salad bowl. I love it.
Sometimes I realize how lonely I am. There's something not right about me - not right about all of us eighth graders that went out together. They screwed us over. It makes me hate private schools. Maybe we should have been taught to think for ourselves. We're all cursed, don't you think? Maybe not. I'm sure some of you are happy. Some of you feel good.
I have Latin tomorrow at 11. Every time I walk into the class it reminds me of the pattern that I'm stuck in. I'm stuck in the ninth grade looking for true love and looking for somewhere to fit in. I want a resolution, and even if I don't have that, I could go for some conflict, some real-life conflict that makes me feel like there's something I'm working towards. Sure, we have our eternity mapped out for us, but I need some goals. I've never made goals. No one ever told me to. I don't have a post-graduation plan. I don't have a plan at all. I've never had plans. Plans are for people who are scared the future won't go their way. I don't even need the future to go my way - I just need it to go.
Okay, so you're reading this and realizing how depressing I am. Psychologists say that depressed people have the better grasp on reality. But I guess if you have a better grasp on your reality, you slowly begin to realize how bad reality sucks. Fine, tell me to grow up. Reality is a fine wine, but I don't see the bittersweetness in my reality, and I suppose that means I either need to find it or I need to put on the rose-colored glasses of the happy people. Reality isn't a lightheaded buzz - it's sobering.
Don't bother me with your solutions though, because chances are, you're wearing the glasses and I'm not, and I won't be able to understand what you're talking about because my world is blue and your world is pink.
Sometimes I realize how lonely I am. There's something not right about me - not right about all of us eighth graders that went out together. They screwed us over. It makes me hate private schools. Maybe we should have been taught to think for ourselves. We're all cursed, don't you think? Maybe not. I'm sure some of you are happy. Some of you feel good.
I have Latin tomorrow at 11. Every time I walk into the class it reminds me of the pattern that I'm stuck in. I'm stuck in the ninth grade looking for true love and looking for somewhere to fit in. I want a resolution, and even if I don't have that, I could go for some conflict, some real-life conflict that makes me feel like there's something I'm working towards. Sure, we have our eternity mapped out for us, but I need some goals. I've never made goals. No one ever told me to. I don't have a post-graduation plan. I don't have a plan at all. I've never had plans. Plans are for people who are scared the future won't go their way. I don't even need the future to go my way - I just need it to go.
Okay, so you're reading this and realizing how depressing I am. Psychologists say that depressed people have the better grasp on reality. But I guess if you have a better grasp on your reality, you slowly begin to realize how bad reality sucks. Fine, tell me to grow up. Reality is a fine wine, but I don't see the bittersweetness in my reality, and I suppose that means I either need to find it or I need to put on the rose-colored glasses of the happy people. Reality isn't a lightheaded buzz - it's sobering.
Don't bother me with your solutions though, because chances are, you're wearing the glasses and I'm not, and I won't be able to understand what you're talking about because my world is blue and your world is pink.
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