Friday, June 3, 2011
Yearbook day (and other disasters).
We all know that being a high school student isn't exactly my strongest suit. And yearbook day is (one of) the worst of the worst. There are many issues with yearbook day. They follow:
1. The people you really, really actually love in real life. These are the people you really love and feel like you ought to write something really truly heartfelt and sentimental and tearstained that details all of the times you have had with them and how that one day when you just wanted to kill yourself (but not really, 'cause you're not actually suicidal in real life (even though you'd probably be suicidal if they weren't in your life)) they said that one thing and it just made you feel so much better and hey! remember that other time when you did that one thing with them and it was so funny and now there's that inside joke and then you can quote said joke in really big block letters and then get all serious and tell them, "No, really. I totally love you" and sign off with some words of advice and tears. The problem comes when you are like me and you have no patience and a belief that yearbooks are impersonal. So I end up simply writing the inside joke (e.g. "Scar-touching" or "[insert fat joke here]") and hoping to high heaven they know how much I really love them in real life. However, these people are the least of my problems...
2. The problems begin with the "Oh, I like you" people. These are the friends of friends who are nice and stuff and it would be fine if you ended up in the same place at the same time at some point over the summer and you'll hug them or something when you see them again but you're never sure what to say because what if they have been obsessed with you and think you are so cute or what if they hate you and you don't know if you should write something really nice like, "You are beautiful and intelligent" or "H.A.G.S.!" so I usually sit amuck and see how long it takes them to write and watch their face to see if they look intent or just calm and normal. I usually end up trying to combine both of the bespoken options into some sort of nice/impersonal message like, "You are beautiful and intelligent... H.A.G.S.!"
3. The "I've been in love with you forever" folks. These guys are the ones who are perfect. Sometimes I want to be all brave and semi-awesome and write something like "I've been seriously in love with you forever. Wanna kiss?" but most of the time, I just write something like... Okay, let's be honest. I avoid these people on yearbook day.
4. And then there's the "What's your name?" people. I usually try my best to spell their name correctly and write something nice about what they are wearing that day and find some quality that seems especially redeeming; however, I've always wanted to do one of the following:
1. Write an extremely heartfelt letter about how much I love them and how I was so happy about that one time when we did that one thing and how cute they are and how much I want to hang out with them this summer and how awesome that class was where we never talked and, oh! what will I do with out you?
2. (This one's a little more likely.) "I don't know you. And I don't know how to spell your name. Insert something nice about what you are wearing and imagine that I am telling you about how pretty/funny/talented you are at something you are talented at. I've loved sitting across the room from you and never speaking. Maybe if we get to know each other next year, then we can laugh about this."
To sum it all up, yearbook day is exhausting. I left early and rode my bike to the public library where I curled up in a chair and read paperback novels all afternoon. I feel a little more myself there than at high school.
As far as other disasters go, I think I am dying my hair blonde again. I like this hair, but I really miss my old hair. I look at pictures of me and think, "I want that back" but I feel dumb 'cause I seriously just dyed my hair.
I also feel dumb because having angst over the color of my hair is sufficiently stupid when there are superenormous issues out there I really ought to be worrying about - like global warming or divorce rates or something.
B is for bad poetry.
All my love,