Septemeber 10, 2010

Friday.

Day of the Unit One math exam. Exam is a much harsher word then test or quiz, which is why I use it. To scare myself. I'm not sure how I did on it, not sure If I would like to find out either. I don't know if you do this or if it's just me, but when other people start to finish and I'm on question 6 I suddenly start to rush, and I know I'm not supposed to. I mean teachers have told me for years and years to believe in myself and if I do that I can achieve anything. Go print it on a frickin lanyard. 

I was sorta hoping that the bump on my Algebra teachers head would make her pass out and we would get off the hook.
No luck.

I turned down another invite, which just may be the stupidest thing ever. I told her that I wanted to go the movie, Easy A, with my parents. Which is true. Now she wants us all to go together. Yeah that's normal.

There are posters all over the school telling us to watch the school news today. Like we have a choice. Its as if we can say- sorry I know the fliers said I should but I have something better to do. It doesn't work like that and if it did I would be like- I know the fliers said I should do my homework but my favorite episode of Friends was on so, sorry.

I ended up watching the news and through out it they played some sappy music. The kind that played at the end of Grease when they were about to graduate. Then the principle said that we could stay here a loooong (yup 3 O's) time or a short time. I think she meant that we could get kicked out or we could stay our proper 3 years. But it sounded like a long time as in we would have to stay more years because we flunked. I don't know, that's what I got.

FaceBookFanPage girl has a friend. She quotes boy bands. I don't know if you know what boy bands sing, but its stupid and its even stupider when its said out loud in a serious tone. I bet you my 5 dollar allowance that the notebook she clings to like a life line is full of poetry. And not Shel Silverstein poetry. No, suicidal, sappy poetry. I'm going to be nice to her, like I am to that creepy boy who sits in the corner and walks funny. The ones that everyone else makes fun of. Because the truth is when they crack, they wont kill me.











Do you know what people call me? Of course you don't. They call me bipolar. That's right. Me the innocent good student, caffeine free, vegetarian, McFly loving, 5 foot 6, writing me. Bipolar. What?

Me and Isadora had fun with raw almonds on the bus. We needed to distract ourselves from the fact that the ancient, white haired driver may just go blind any second. Its fun. I will miss her when middle school ends. I really will.

I have to make an appointment with a counselor to talk about high schools. I mean I don't have to but my parents want to, it just makes everything so real. The whole moving on and up. Or really moving down, considering in 9th grade we will be the baby's again.

It makes the fact that I'm leaving my very, very small group of friends very, very real. I have one year left, not even that. And when I think about it that way I don't want 8th to end.

And then I wake up and I'm still in a living hell. Jesus I hate nightmares.