Disgusting little freak... again....!

You'd think that by now, I'd have gotten over it and moved on with my life. But no. Of course not. I have no idea why, but there's always this consistant, pressing need to DO somthing about the fact that the one person I was never able to proove myself to still thinks I'm a disgusting little freak. Really, in all utter honesty, I have gotten over HIM, but this isn't about HIM anymore. It's about the fact that he bested me. And no one ever gets to do that and get away with it. Ever.
       The point of the matter is, I don't freak out. I honestly don't. Well, I suppose that's not true. I do. Quite a bit actually, although less frequently now than I used to. Anyways, when a person gives me enough grief to cause me to have a miniature brain hemerage every time I see them, it's a big deal to me. I don't like it when people have the ability to get me that worked up. At the point in time at which I realizer that this is in fact the case, I usually turn it into a game. They continue, knowingly or otherwise, to wrile me up, and I struggle with myself to wage war through self-control. Cold, logical self-control.
       But apparently, this doesn't work where certain people are involved. Certain people have this relentless pull attached to them, like black wholes attracting billions and billions of stars and gallaxies every minute, these people have such a strong pull on the person I am that I find myself completely absorbed in their existance.
       They become distractions. Which is highly irritating and not very pleasant at all. And the thing I hate absolutely the most about it is this: that once they're a distraction, this distraction doesn't ever go away. Ever. My best friend happens to fall into this category, although I think the two of us have learned to read each other well enough to know when to leave each other allon and when to pester the crap out of one another.
        But this particular distraction was not only never going to get out of my head, but he was never NOT anywhere. He would keep popping up in the most inconvenient places, with the most inconvenient people. And not to mention that said inconvenient people all seem to bear blood fuedal grudges against me. To make matters worse, he knew he was my distraction. And so therfore they did too. And they certainly didn't help me forget about him.
        Oh, and have I yet mentioned that this particular distraction hates me too? Maybe he doesn't hate me, but for whatever reason, I am apparently beneath his stature. Why? No idea whatsoever. And of course, as my distraction, he seems completely oblivious to my existance. And of course of course of COURSE it has to be IMPOSSIBLE for me to say more than fifteen words to him in one sitting. Of COURSE. Just my luck.
      
       Not to change the subject or anything, but when something I do bothers someone, they really should just tell me. I hate hate HATE it when I'm doing something that bothers someone and they just keep on letting me do it, like everything's fine and dandy. Because then they become uninterested, I become a nusance that they can't wait to be rid of, and the world is absolutly splendid. NOT!
       Gads! Sometimes I really do wish I wasn't as crazy or as nerdy or as smart. Or such a good writer, or as weird or as empathetic or as perceptive or as... anything I am!

Come to think of it, maybe I am a disgusting little freak and he was right all along...

Oh NO!!! REALLY? GASP!!!

I've gone my entire thirteen years without passing out. Not once. Not even close. I had no idea what it was like, no idea how terrifically humiliating it is to simply go limp and collapse on yourself in the middle of a public place... no idea whatsoever. Until today, of course.
One would think that of all places to pass out, the library would be one of the nicest. There's the chance that you'd wake up before anyone finds you. But no. Absolutely not. And if I wasn't unconscious as I fell, I was by the time I hit the ground. Take my word for it, the library is not the nicest place to pass out. Not only is it very VERY public, but you never really understand how narrow the rows of books are until you're lying sprawled between two of them, having hit your head on five or six on the way down.
It was ridiculously painful. One would think I of all people would be a little tougher than this. But NO. And that's not the half of it. Apparently, I was out for at least fifteen minutes. I'm not sure. I woke up surrounded by people, lying on a stack of books, with a throbbing pain in my head like someone trying to drill a whole with a jackhammer.  (Might I add that these were the pointy-edged, hard-backed books?)
I don't honestly think I've ever been more humiliated in my entire life. And considering some of the things people have done to me, some of the names I've been called, the jokes that have been made about me... that's saying quite a bit.

And let's not get me started about how I was sick in the bathroom of the library for another half hour before I could even stand up straight and haul myself out the doors without passing out again. And then as luck would have it, I had to ride my bicycle home. Ha-very-ha.
I looked like I had gone swimming in flour. Bleached, pale ghostly white. Actually, make that moldy flour. I'm positive I was slightly greenish too. Good lord, am I embarrassed!

Summer! YEEEESSSS!!!!!!

At last! Summer is here! So is a great deal of house work. Blah! I can't believe that I'm a Sophomore already! The year seemed to go by so quickly. I keep waking up at five in the morning and thinking, hmm, I wonder what crazy adventures we'll have in Spanish today. What with THOSE TWO and all...

In all honesty, there's quite a bit about school that I am going to miss. For one thing, getting to see my friends every day. For another, the motivation to be better, to DO something with myself. Something more than sit around all day and wallow in self pity. (Why in the world would I be doing that? What do I have to pity myself for?) For another, the comfort of knowing that when those things in life come up that I can't go to my parents about, I won't be able to see my friends the next day and rant and complain to them about how utterly dreadful my life is. Because as stupid as it is, that really does make one feel much better.

But I am glad it's Summer. I hope that people will be available to socialize, more so than during the school year. I also hope, that what with the pressure of school and grades lifted and all the miscellaneous falderal that school thrusts upon the developing adolescent gone, I might be able to loosen up and have a bit of fun now and then. But who knows, we'll have to see when the opportunity arrises.

Almost there...

Finally, school is almost over. And Summer cannot come quickly enough. For the first time in my natural life, I can't wait for summer. Not that I don't like school anymore, but people will just be more free this summer. I think. Or maybe I'm assuming things again. Anyways, about summer, and being excited for it and all that jazz, I think I might actually be more excited about being excited about summer almost being here, than I am about the fact that summer is almost here... I probably confused you ten times more now. Because I'm pretty sure I confused myself, but I'm too confused to be able to know for sure... wait, WHAT?
Anyways, I am soooooooo ready to be DONE with math this year. UGH! We have this funky proficiency grading thing in high school and it really is NOT fun. I spend most of my time making up math tests and doing a plethora of unnecessary and frivolous extra work that doesn't really have any point other than to torture the students who have to do it.
But I am rather sad that I won't be able to drop in and visit my favorite teachers anymore. And I generally wonder what will happen to all the half-friendships that I managed to cultivate, but haven't had the time or the courage or the... whatever to actually develop. But who knows, it might not be all that bad having a three month break from school....