The Note That's Not About Me (I Hope)

I've never realized how insanely self-centered we as people are. Okay, amendment: I've never realized how insanely self-centered I as a person am. I've noticed it in pretty much everybody else, but it's taken me years to see it in myself.

Background to this epiphany: I've got a P.E. class first thing in the mornings, which is bad enough by itself—it's full of sophomore boys who have to make dirty jokes about everything, bother the teacher as a hobby, and pick fun at that sickening gay kid who sits in the back and tries not to be involved in any way, shape or form. (Three guesses, folks!)

So. Today we were doing warm-ups and stuff, and the teacher left to get the equipment (a giant inflatable neon pink ball—I know, I want one too). The minute she rounded the corner we all stopped jogging and started chatting, as usual. We always sit down in little clusters and gossip about random stuff. Later, when we were actually getting ready to play the game, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying on the ground. Nosy person that I am (something I desperately try not to be, as my mother is one of the nosiest people I know and I make a point of not being like her) I walked over and picked it up. Imagine my surprise when thick pencil streaks stare up at me: "That kid wants to have sex with me."

Ego enters, stage left. I had absolutely no evidence that the note was about me. There was no name, no indication that I was involved. And yet, I immediately glanced around to see who was talking about me behind my back. (SIDE NOTE: By this point I am so used to people talking behind my back that it rarely bothers me—that is, the talking doesn't bother me. I get irked to no end when people discuss my faults or whatever. If somebody has a problem with me, they should be brave enough to talk to my face where I can either justify their doubts or politely tear them down. Okay, rant over.)

Maybe it was the handwriting. I realize I'm stereotyping, but no girl would write so over the place. Even if they have not-so-neat handwriting, it's at least legible and much perkier than guy's handwriting. Or maybe it was the wording. That kid seems like a derogatory term, up there with that couch. That old thing. "That old thing? Oh, that kid spilled something on it. I've been meaning to get rid of that couch."

And all of a sudden I remembered I think everything is about me. That group of girls whispering in the hall are talking about me. The kid who makes eye contact for a split second and starts chatting with his neighbor, he's talking about me too. Everybody's gossiping about me. Everybody.

No. No, they aren't. There's more interesting, not to mention recent topics than me floating around the school. I came out a year and a half ago—that's not exactly a recent event. I wore the GAY shirt six months ago—once again, not a recent event. Besides, what's there to talk about with me as the subject? "Oh my god, that kid is so gay." "Oh, I know! We've got PE together and he's always reading something." Wow. Nothing new there. "Did you see that kid?" "Yeah, he pierced his ears!" Me and everybody's dog seems to be doing that—though they're all clones of each other, with their square diamond studs and their gansta speak. Really, I'm not that interesting of a topic.

Anyway, as a human race we really need to get over ourselves. As much as we like to think so, not everything is about ourselves specifically.

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.

A Graduation Speaker

So, I'm sitting in the auditorium listening to some dude talking about how we need to GRADUATE and SHOW SENIOR PRIDE, even though ONE PERSON IN YOUR ROW WON'T BE AT GRADUATION. Wow. The school seems to have to resort to some pretty low measures to motivate us. My friend Kelley and I are making snide comments about everything, including how all the senior class officers look the same from the back. It takes the concept of Robotic Students to a whole new level.

Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Loud-Graduation-Dude, but I really don't want want to reminisce on my wonderful, memorable last year of mandatory education. And I really don't feel like showing up at the graduation ceremony. I'll just let them mail my diploma to me and celebrate at IHOP instead. It'd be much more fun and a lot less listening to people talk about how we're the future and we're going to make a difference because we are the next generation.

Personally I don't feel like carrying on the Caveman legacy, especially into the workplace. Cavemen generally are looked down upon in mainstream society. I mean, looks at the Geico commercials. The poor guy has his dumb, not-shaven face all over the buses and billboards.

And then we're moving on to Classyrings, Cap'n'Gowns, and Graduationnouncements. Lots of hype for pretty much nothing. And what is it about rock music with a loud bass line that makes people think we're going to get excited and pay attention to whatever they have playing on the screen? They could at least give us something to be excited about.

Like a dildo. (Thank you, Kelley.) What if they gave us Class of 2010 dildos? That would certainly be memorable, and a lot more useful than a fancy expensive ring. The ring is only really used to punch people and look chunky. Dildos have lots of uses, though I really don't think I need to go into detail here. Maybe later, but certainly not here.

Aw, they have a Grad Bear. That's the only remotely interesting thing I've seen so far. It's small and adorable with that fluffy brown fur and a cute little Cap'n'Gown. See, that's something I could live with. I could look up on my shelf and see the cute Grad Bear with my '10 dildo as their own little display. Good times, good times.

Ohmigod. I could buy a sweatshirt that ADVERTISES how much a senior I am. I could "broadcast it daily"!!! I think I might faint from the excitingness of it all. I can hardly stand how exciting this is! I can't breathe!!!! AAAAHH!!! AAAAAHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAHHH!!!!!

I THINK I'M GETTING LIGHTHEADED FROM ASPHYXIATION!!!!!!!!

God. I think that's what they're expecting of me. A SeniorTankard? With everyone's name on the back? Wow. I don't know HOW I can live without it!!!!!

I totally blame the coffee I had this morning for my mood. I haven't had any coffee since my friend Katie's birthday party. (Well, it wasn't really her party. Afterwards, at about 10 at night, we all went to IHOP and I got the neverending coffee pot. Which is one of the most glorious things in the history of mankind. I mean, as much coffee as you can drink for $2.04? Who wouldn't want it?) So the sudden onslaught of iced mocha (mocha=coffee+chocolate syrup=the greatest thing ever) has been having major effects on my system. During 1st period PE I actually participated, something I only do when the teacher makes me. But no, today, and entirely of my own free will, I valiantly went sprinting across the wet soccer field to save my friends from the clutches of the jail in Capture the Flag. Though my lack of coordination caught up with me, and then I was on the ground doing a full-body slide across the wet grass.

Which was pretty much the most exhilarating thing since finding my mocha on the table before school.

Oh damn. I just remembered that Mrs. Warby (the choir teacher) is going to make me go to the graduation ceremony so I can play for the senior choir. Maybe I'll even have to sing for the senior choir.

Well, there goes my plans.

So, this guy has been talking for almost an hour now. I think we've covered all the main points. Oh, wait. High-Fives-and-Hugs!!!! Wow! At graduation, all of a sudden the social boundaries break down, and we see the Football Team hugging the Chess Club! Wow. It brings a tear to my eye. It's like an eleventh-hour Breakfast Club. Yeah. Sure. I'll believe that when I see it. I can name a lot people off the top of my head who wouldn't hug me if their lives depended on it. They might catch my disease and suddenly have hot-crazy-wild-man-sex in the locker rooms or something.

Sigh. So, yeah. I think we're wrapping things up with the speech. Apparently we all get to sign a banner committing ourselves to graduating on time, something I'm planning on doing anyway, regardless of how many SBOs I get cornering me with felt pens and forcing me to sign my promise.

This was a perfectly good waste of second period.