I read a lot. I try to read 3 books per week although I usually do not meet my goal. I like to read. I like to read adult fiction. I like memoirs and realistic fiction. I don't like fantasy or science fiction, unless the science fiction is in a jokey way.
I read a lot because it gives me hope that maybe if I read so much, I'll learn something and if I learn something maybe somebody will say, 'hey! this girl is one smart cookie!' and then I will get a medal, or at least a certificate. I want to learn something because I want people to know that I learn, that I know things, that I know something. That I want to know things. That I try to know things. I want to leave this school. I want to leave school. I want to leave here.
I want to graduate. I want to be rich. I want to be kind of famous but not so famous that people want to kill me so that they can be me. Like John Lennon.
It's stupid but I worry sometimes that I'm not smart enough. I'm the smartest person in my school but that's not really saying much because everyone is so, so stupid and I'm so scared that maybe I'm not really that talented, after all, because it certainly feels like it sometimes.
I'm a big fish in a small pond.
I'm the one eyed king in the city of blind people. I'm not sure if that is the right metaphor, although I'm pretty sure it is.
I don't do very much. I'm a smart girl, above average but I want to be better than that. I want to be the best even though I know I'm not. I almost wish that I was never the best, that I went to a boarding school for gifted kids where at least half the people are smarter than me. I want to do that now but I'm scared that I won't be able to handle the pressure, the extra work, the criticism. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle not being the best.
I know it'll happen, eventually, though. My mother, I think, expects that I will be valedictorian at my high school which I am starting next year.
This is all I have, my brain, and I don't even do any extracurriculars. We don't really have any but the ones we do have I wouldn't be very good at, so I don't do them.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Boy.
The Boy, the Boy, the Boy.
That's not his real name of course. We're reading a book in school with a main character named Ponyboy. That's not his nickname either. What a godawful name.
Anyway, I broke up with him a while ago. We broke up. I'm not sure why it took so long to write about. God, my life is so, so incredibly boring mostly.
It didn't take long because I was sad. I was less sad than I thought I would be, and I didn't think I would be very sad.
I'm a teenager, and we dated for a long time. Years, in fact. It's certainly a long time for my school, where a male friend of mine holds a school record for dating a girl for 1 period, or about 50 minutes. Average relationships last 1 or two weeks. So I guess we had a serious relationship.
That said, however, we only went on a couple of dates. We hardly ever spoke, actually. Our last date was on Christmas Eve, and not the latest Christmas Eve. The one before that. We went to see the Sherlock Holmes movie. It was awkward because his mother came too. It probably would have been awkward anyway.
Middle school dating is nearly impossible, I think, unless you live somewhere urban (I don't) because a parent always has to drop you off and pick you up. It really kills the mood and amplifies the awkwardness.
We ride the same bus. Sometimes we sat together. His parents are divorced so sometimes he rode a different bus. Sometimes we held hands. Holding hands is impractical.
The sad thing is, the farthest we ever got, sexually, was holding hands. Seriously. Actually one time he hugged me.
One time we discovered that we liked the same song. 'Pop Rocks' by Fight Fair. I considered taking it off my Ipod after we broke up, not because I was sad, well actually, because I was sad, but just a twinge of sadness, not anguish or anything dramatic like that.
He likes bands like Def Leppard and Greenday. Led Zeppelin.
I feigned interest. Sometimes.
I wonder sometimes why we broke up. Sometimes people ask me. We're well known for having a long running relationship, although sometimes I say we didn't do anything. Especially if the boy is within earshot. He glares, but in a friendly way. I'm not sure. After we broke up, a friend of mine (the same boy who holds the record for shortest relationship) told me the boy liked some girl. Nice girl, dumb as a post. But most people are. I thought that before I knew the boy liked her, by the way. I was more mad at my friend than I was at the boy. I was mad at my friend because he knew while the boy and I were still dating. 'Why didn't you tell me?' I shouted. 'He asked me not to.' was the reply. I smoldered quietly for the rest of the period.
I tell everyone I knew, even though I didn't. It hurt, a little, but no more than learning a boy who has had a crush on you has moved on. It's less about the boy and more about the self esteem.
He tells people that he broke up with me. I know he intended to, although I was the one who actually did the deed. I'm surprisingly okay with it. I generally correct people, but not in a mean or urgent way. I understand why he tells everyone he did, although the friend (the same friend, in fact, he's not my only friend, it just seems like it) tells me it's always better to be the dumpee than the dumper. Apparently it's so people will feel sorry for you, and angry at the dumper. I disagree, but I see his point. The dumpee pity phenomon happens more to girls than it does to boys, I think. I think it hurts the boy's self esteem to be dumped more than it hurts mine. So I mostly let the rumor stay.
The real reason we broke up is this (at least, the reason he stopped liking me): I think he stopped liking me once he saw what kind of person I really am. Or maybe the kind of person I've become. Or the kind of person I act like. I think I seem sort of angry and mean, sometimes. I'm not, really. I don't think so. It's hard to tell how I come across. I understand, though. We're very different people, although maybe it didn't start out that way. I broke up with him because I think I knew he didn't like me anymore, it came through in the things he said to me. He was probably right, that I am a mean person, but I don't care. I care a little. I don't feel mean, and most people are. I broke up with him because we never did anything, in a sex way. I mean, I didn't expect us to HAVE sex, of course not, I think that should be totally off the table for middle school relationships, and I wouldn't have oral sex or anything, but I wish we could make out a little. I wish we had, even if it wouldn't have made our relationship last any longer or feel any better. I wish we had even though I never liked him very much. I just wish I could experience that. I'm sure I will at some point, just not now. Still.
Once, I know he really liked me. Or so I'm told. I don't know, the boy has ADHD.
I'm not sure I ever liked him. I think I'm sad now because I spent such a long time trying to convince myself I liked the boy that I almost sort of did in the end.
I miss the boy.
That's not his real name of course. We're reading a book in school with a main character named Ponyboy. That's not his nickname either. What a godawful name.
Anyway, I broke up with him a while ago. We broke up. I'm not sure why it took so long to write about. God, my life is so, so incredibly boring mostly.
It didn't take long because I was sad. I was less sad than I thought I would be, and I didn't think I would be very sad.
I'm a teenager, and we dated for a long time. Years, in fact. It's certainly a long time for my school, where a male friend of mine holds a school record for dating a girl for 1 period, or about 50 minutes. Average relationships last 1 or two weeks. So I guess we had a serious relationship.
That said, however, we only went on a couple of dates. We hardly ever spoke, actually. Our last date was on Christmas Eve, and not the latest Christmas Eve. The one before that. We went to see the Sherlock Holmes movie. It was awkward because his mother came too. It probably would have been awkward anyway.
Middle school dating is nearly impossible, I think, unless you live somewhere urban (I don't) because a parent always has to drop you off and pick you up. It really kills the mood and amplifies the awkwardness.
We ride the same bus. Sometimes we sat together. His parents are divorced so sometimes he rode a different bus. Sometimes we held hands. Holding hands is impractical.
The sad thing is, the farthest we ever got, sexually, was holding hands. Seriously. Actually one time he hugged me.
One time we discovered that we liked the same song. 'Pop Rocks' by Fight Fair. I considered taking it off my Ipod after we broke up, not because I was sad, well actually, because I was sad, but just a twinge of sadness, not anguish or anything dramatic like that.
He likes bands like Def Leppard and Greenday. Led Zeppelin.
I feigned interest. Sometimes.
I wonder sometimes why we broke up. Sometimes people ask me. We're well known for having a long running relationship, although sometimes I say we didn't do anything. Especially if the boy is within earshot. He glares, but in a friendly way. I'm not sure. After we broke up, a friend of mine (the same boy who holds the record for shortest relationship) told me the boy liked some girl. Nice girl, dumb as a post. But most people are. I thought that before I knew the boy liked her, by the way. I was more mad at my friend than I was at the boy. I was mad at my friend because he knew while the boy and I were still dating. 'Why didn't you tell me?' I shouted. 'He asked me not to.' was the reply. I smoldered quietly for the rest of the period.
I tell everyone I knew, even though I didn't. It hurt, a little, but no more than learning a boy who has had a crush on you has moved on. It's less about the boy and more about the self esteem.
He tells people that he broke up with me. I know he intended to, although I was the one who actually did the deed. I'm surprisingly okay with it. I generally correct people, but not in a mean or urgent way. I understand why he tells everyone he did, although the friend (the same friend, in fact, he's not my only friend, it just seems like it) tells me it's always better to be the dumpee than the dumper. Apparently it's so people will feel sorry for you, and angry at the dumper. I disagree, but I see his point. The dumpee pity phenomon happens more to girls than it does to boys, I think. I think it hurts the boy's self esteem to be dumped more than it hurts mine. So I mostly let the rumor stay.
The real reason we broke up is this (at least, the reason he stopped liking me): I think he stopped liking me once he saw what kind of person I really am. Or maybe the kind of person I've become. Or the kind of person I act like. I think I seem sort of angry and mean, sometimes. I'm not, really. I don't think so. It's hard to tell how I come across. I understand, though. We're very different people, although maybe it didn't start out that way. I broke up with him because I think I knew he didn't like me anymore, it came through in the things he said to me. He was probably right, that I am a mean person, but I don't care. I care a little. I don't feel mean, and most people are. I broke up with him because we never did anything, in a sex way. I mean, I didn't expect us to HAVE sex, of course not, I think that should be totally off the table for middle school relationships, and I wouldn't have oral sex or anything, but I wish we could make out a little. I wish we had, even if it wouldn't have made our relationship last any longer or feel any better. I wish we had even though I never liked him very much. I just wish I could experience that. I'm sure I will at some point, just not now. Still.
Once, I know he really liked me. Or so I'm told. I don't know, the boy has ADHD.
I'm not sure I ever liked him. I think I'm sad now because I spent such a long time trying to convince myself I liked the boy that I almost sort of did in the end.
I miss the boy.
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