The Regrets of Mr. Bradley

So I'm sitting in third period, making sure that nobody vandalizes the library, and also putting off my homework for fourth period. I'm retaking Creative Writing this year cause it counts as an English credit, whereas last year it counted as an elective credit. At first I thought it would be great and all, and it is, but so far we're just doing the same things we did last year.

Don't get me wrong, it's a fun class with fun people—one or two in particular—but for some reason I thought we'd be doing different stuff. Which is absurd, because the teacher has been teaching that class for years now. Why should he change the whole curriculum because one student has already done it? Honestly. That's probably the most egocentric thing I've ever thought.

Regret #1: I kind of wish I'd taken AP Lit instead.

Ugh, and my back is killing me. It's my own fault entirely—I have the strange and fatal disorder known as biblioitis: it is not physically possible for me to have under five books from the library at one time. I usually go on a binge-purge cycle, checking out seven at once and turning the old seven in, carting them to and from my house on a daily basis. This is wreaking havoc on my back and shoulders, not to mention the time constraints. For not only do I have to check them out, I have to read them all, regardless of if I've read them before. Not all of them are worth reading again—just this morning I was talking with my friend Erica about the new New Moon trailer, and now I just have to reread the Twilight saga again. It doesn't matter that I'm 4/7 of the way through another series and plowing through the first book in a hefty trilogy, or that I've also planned to reread Eragon et al—now I can't live without some angsty vampires as well.

Regret #2: I wish I wasn't so book-sessed.

*sigh* I'm also getting really sick of being lonely. I've already ranted about this to tons of people, but it's constantly on my mind, whether or not I want it to be. It's just getting very, very old watching everybody else fall in love with each other, then coming to me to complain how their relationship sucks and is there anything I can do to help, please that'd be great, then falling out of love with each other, and then complaining to me about how they're lonely and sick of being single. While they go through the cycle over and over like a broken top or a washing machine, I exist in a perpetual state of NoBoyfriend.

"The state of NoBoyfriend is not a state like New Jersey is a state. It's a state like catatonia is a state. Or depression. Or ennui. (Ennui: Another one of my new words. It means "listlessness, boredom." As in, "I would save the world, but I suffer from ennui, which forces me to lie on the couch and eat spearmint jelly candies instead.")

"A person in the state of NoBoyfriend is in stasis. Nothing is happening on the boy front. So little happened last month, and so little is expected to happen next month—or ever that [he] is immobile in terms of romance. [He] is also affliicted with mild depression and ennui due to a lack of affection, excitement, and horizontal action.

"[He] knows, of course, that Gloria Steinman, her favorite feminist from American History and Politics last year, would tell [him] that "a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.

"But maybe, depending on who [he] is, [he] wants a boyfriend anyway. Maybe the fish wants a bicycle.

"The state of Noboyfriend is hard to leave, once you're well and firmly in. The longer you are there, the more entrenched you are. Doctors and shrinks won't be of any help. There are no pills for the state of Noboyfriend, no psychoanalytic diagnoses, no miracle cures." from The Treasure Map of Boys by E. Lockhart

Well, I'm sick of Noboyfriend. But there's not a whole lot to choose from—nothing, in fact. Which brings me to the actual regret. Sometimes I wish I were straight, if only because it would be so much easier to find what I want in this world. I'm not in the mood to wait until college or beyond to get my first kiss, because that's just absurd. And yes, part of me wants a happy-teen-movie-ending, where everybody gets who they want and goes out for pizza and a bit of "horizontal action."

Regret #3: I wish I wasn't gay. But only sometimes.