I'm back, isn't that exciting? See, the thing of it is, high school is evil. Not the regular evil that I have discussed in earlier conversations with myself, Satanic evil. No, beyond Satan. You know why? Algebra II. That subject is the negative reciprocal of purgatory to the 666th power cubed to "why the hell do I have to learn this crap?" I'm more positive now, I think. We'll just say that for now.
Oh, so many things have occurred in my rather lengthy hiatus. For one thing, I'm not allowed to use the word "hiatus" until I learn it in English class. I'd say that that is ironic, but I haven't learned that word yet, either.
So, anyhoo, the real topic of today is middle school; it's worst than Algebra II. I believe I was actually updating this site when I was in junior high, so you were able to see my sudden flux in optimism as I hit high school. Maybe that didn't happen either, but we're going to pretend.
This morning I had the luxury of rising at 4 am (getting a total of 3 1/2 hours of sleep, which is probably why I'm tired enough to ignore my other requirements and update this site) to go on a Spanish field trip to Boston. This, however, was no ordinary field trip. On this journey the higher level Spanish students were dutifully accompanied by a local town's 8th grade class. Yeaaaaaaaaa. It gave me a solid reminder of the hell that is junior high: the constant repeat of bad TV shows in their entirety (which my class still does), squealing, playing a hearty game of Uno to pass the time, and, less we ever forget, the intellectual "your mamma's so fat..." jokes. The winner for today was "your mamma's so fat she's really fat." Hmmmmm.
Before I begin with the real observations, the power of junior high school kids to pass rumors is also stellar. It was reported at one point that my friend wrote a note to "Brian" when in fact we had just concluded a discussion involving our hatred for passing notes when you can talk to someone and answer their questions by mouth. On top of that, the accused note-passer doesn't know of a Brian who actually exists. Within minutes my friend was the talk of the bus, including what she wrote in the imaginary letter. If that's not impressive, I'm not sure what is.
The real juice of this somewhat rambling story is on the trip home. I was sitting with a boy we'll call Jon, who is not the happiest of fellows. It may seem like a downer on this site, but I'm not even in the same league as this kid. He's neat to talk to, but a little on the depressed side. He dresses all in black, has a trench coat, hat, multiple safety pins attached to various articles of clothing, and talks at great lengths about despair and his apathy for the human race. I only mention his appearance because it somehow attracted multiple 8th grade girls to follow and harass him, therefore annoying everyone around him. Who woulda thunk.
On the trek back to school, they somehow transported themselves to our dislike of notes conversation, and began to pass him messages through our seats which were a whole diagonal away. Woa. I didn't particularly feel it necessary to engage in this experience, but found myself taking their notes, correcting their grammar and spelling, and then handing them back to them. I wrote one small message which involved the need for proper GUM (which I despise, by the way), to secure a civilized and advancing society, but they got caught up on the word dichotomy and didn't finish reading it. Tear.
Because Jon is still a male and subconsciously seeks any attention from females he can get, he actually started to write almost real notes back to their dribble. Real meaning one to two words, but I would have ignored them completely so it was an interesting situation. (I continued to knit my lumpy scarf because I am still an 80-year-old woman in disguise). These kids were in 8th grade and yet claimed that they cut themselves, do drugs, smoke, over-dosed on Tylenol, although they didn't know that there were different effects from over-dosing on different substances and that it could indeed result in death, and plan on stalking Jon because they "know where he lives". Jon was convinced that they were lying about it all, but it was absolutely amazing how nonchalantly they said these things to get attention from a kid who looks like he does drugs on a regular basis, but in actually doesn't do crap all that often. This may just be me, but I have never seen kids look up to an older kid to that extent who threatened their lives in a subtle way that many times. On top of that, they thought that it was the coolest thing to do drugs and to advertise it for the world to hear. That's weird. I don't care if kids smoke pot or whatever, but these guys obviously didn't know the effects or consequences of anything they were talking about. Oh, they also like to "set fires".
These kids' spelling and grammar really was atrocious, even worst than mine, they were incredibly typical 8th grade girls, and they just did not understand any of what they were saying! They weren't making a cry for help, because I don't think they realized that cutting themselves is a form of suicide and, oh, I don't know, a chance to BLEED TO DEATH.
I don't really remember what I was trying to get at, other than the fact that there are a lot of messed up kids who have no idea what their saying. That isn't exactly news worthy, but more surprising was the fact that Jon was encouraging them! They kept asking him if he drank or did drugs, etc., and one of their questions was what would happen if they over-dosed on some substance. His response was that they would die if it got to a certain level in their blood stream or they were left un-treated, but the real question was would it matter if they died? I'm sorry, but that's wrong. You don't tell little kids (these were little kids, I don't care if I'm only 2 or 3 years older than them) that cutting is okay if they do it in inconspicuous spots, that they should decide whether or not to die,and that there isn't anything wrong with them doing drugs when they're five.
I still don't remember what I actually wanted to say, so make your own conclusions on this one. I swear I had a purpose to writing this at one point...
I'm going to go find a bed...
so tired...
sleep....
keep forgetting topic...
sorry...
sleep...