Yesterday was such a mess, plus me not being able to call Barnes & Noble for the answer as to whether or not I got my job annoyed me as well because I was KO'd on my bed. My nose has been leaking like a faucet for the past 56 hours. Last night, I was up until 1:40 AM doing a history project for the sake of actually passing, and having to wake up at 5:40 AM the very same morning.
Today, though, had an unhealthy atmosphere. Sure I got to talk to my friend more, but other people decide to push me to my limit. Let's start with Mr. Foley.
Mr. Foley is almost stoic in his speech and expression, if not completely stoic. He's fair in just about every matter he's involved in.
Today, we had second lunch, where we go to for a half hour in the two hour block and do our lunch thing. I'm in an on-again, off-again conversation with a Marine who had his stand set up in the middle of the Brazil/Puerto Rico side of the cafeteria. I talk to him somewhat, et cetera et cetera, he makes two girls down forty knee push-ups (I was going to tell him to do the elevated ones), and so I forgot that after lunch, we'd spend the remainder of the period in the Library on the other side of the school.
...Of course, I forget, make it down to the hall, and realize that I'm suppose to be in the Library. Head over there, middle of the introduction the librarian is giving for our research project (I'm researching Alcohol and the physiological affects on the human body) and we get started on our research.
You know when you need to blow your nose and you rather not do it in the class because it'll sound disgusting (and you're insecure that way and hate the fact)? Well...
Fifteen minutes in, I need to blow my nose because the faucet is on again. I come up to him, he obviously thinks I was going to cut class due to the fact I was late, and doesn't let me. Why come to class late by five minutes and not cut class? If you're late, might as well go all out. I explain myself as to why I was late, doesn't buy it, then he tells me that this is the only time I have to research the project because he doubts I'll do it at home (I don't blame him), and doesn't let me.
I asked the librarian if I could have a tissue, and I wipe my nose, nevertheless, the faucet is still on.
An hour later, English is going smoothly. My teacher talks about the research paper (trust me, this won't be the last one coming) we're doing on any topic we'd like to know more about. I'm thinking Rodney King Riots or Martin Luther King Jr. I'm leaning towards MLK.
The class is in freedom of discussion and this couldn't-be-more-of-a-apathetic-little-brat (and Mr. McNeill calls her a brat openly to the class, and he's not wrong) and I get into some kind of argument.
At the very end, she shoots back with, "Get a life."
There isn't really any good comeback to that I can think of without shouting at her or giving her a slap to the face her parents should've gave to the spoiled girl when she was younger (maybe then she'd have SOME respect).
"I had a life, "I said, "I had a girlfriend.... and then she left."
"And then she left, " she says, rubbing the cold, hard fact into my soul like a wet towel of acid.
I silence myself. My mind rushes with thoughts of Bionigirl and how much I miss her. I tried to ignore the pain, continually encouraging myself that someday I'll talk to her again.
Love just doesn't work that way.
I throw myself in deep thought to drown out the world, yet notice the watering of my eyes, ready to unleash the heavy tears inside that have built up like a dam. It hurts thinking of it right now.
Karley. I miss you.
Hold on, watering again...
###### its so hard to control.
The bell rings, and it signals our cell gates being open and our prison freedom is granted for seventeen and a half hours.
I wait outside on the steps for the bus to come, because George is usually late and the guys just stand around and talk. The usual insults, comedy, nothing we truly mean, and I talk with this freshman kid who runs his mouth too often and purposely offends. As I'm bagging on him, one of the guys on the bus, I believe his name is Bryan, starts bagging on me about me being immature. Of course I know what he means. I'm usually immature to the guys (Josh and Phil) because they can get you in that care-free comedic mood. Bryan, on the other hand, likes to start arguments and uses his fists to add his exclamation point. He provokes me happily, even saying, "Wanna fight?" which I decline, because thanks to MLK, I'm trying to avoid getting into any heated brawl. He continues his insults, his comebacks that add nothing to his argument, and smiles the entire time.
Thing is, I bet he could beat me. I know I have all the motivation to take him on without question, but I'm sure he's shoot his fists faster and harder. Remember, I'm a grappler/wrestler, not a boxer.
I sit at the front of the bus, away from him. The seats wouldn't provide enough room to fight him if one did occur, so I avoided him. I talk with George and me and this other girl Sam talk about our 'Back in da day' time, meaning the 90s. It started with a Magic School Bus reference, and went on from there.
I just had some chicken soup, taking a break from writing in this entry. Feel much better.
Thursday is looking good now. Hopefully it will.
~AA
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