Monday, September 27, 2010

A Midnight Wish for Morning

The shadow of a single cloud moving lazily across the midday sky passes slowly along the ground like the silhouette of some great dark beast beneath my feet, patiently searching for something to devour. Here I dream that I have yet to live, that this walk beneath the hungry clouds is an illusion inside the psyche of a sleeping infant. I dream that everything I know is false, that I will awaken again as a child and remember nothing of this dream that I have lived for so many years. That I will lose everything save the strongest emotions of that dream.

Do I go to sleep and dream that I am someone else? Or is the other way around? Perhaps what I've always thought was happening when I fall asleep and dream is actually the process of waking up from a dream that I am an eighteen year old, disaffected wanderer who loves to write and has a life like a train wreck. Perhaps this world is that dream, and that each night I am given a chance to wake up. I ought not to trust my senses because I could be dreaming and not know it. The sense ideas that I have may not be caused by anything in the external world, they may just be a dream.

What, then, awaits those who choose to wake up? Is death not the only way to discover which place is the dream, and which is reality? 

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Extraneous? Extremely.

Hello, world. It's 11:57 in the A.M., and I'm sitting in the study hall room of my high school, called "the fishbowl" by most due to it's lack of any walls you can't see right through. Today has sucked.

Let's start with some facts. In my lab class, Computer Science and Forensics II, there are four class officer positions. These are President, Vice President, Treasurer, and Secretary/Historian. I am currently Vice President. Its my first time ever holding a class office in my thirteen years of school thus far, and its about to be threatened by an overbearing lab instructor with what seems to be a mix between bipolar disorder and a Napoleon complex. 

Early in the lab period, a fellow student who we will affectionately refer to here as The Idiot decided to start a class petition. The petition itself stemmed from an in-class joke between The Idiot and the instructor concerning a lack of adequate amounts of hand sanitizer in the lab room. The petition called for an increase of hand sanitizer bottles, and demanded that a non-member of the class body (read: teacher) should be the one to trek down to central supply (a daunting 3 minute quest) and retrieve said bottles. I, along with the President and Treasurer, signed the obviously jesting document thinking it was little more than a friendly, harmless joke.

The instructor thought otherwise.

After discovering The Idiot going station to station asking for signatures, and subsequently losing his mind over the ordeal, (picture a bald Orville Redenbacker with veins popping out of his forehead) he called for myself and my fellow officers to come talk to him. Without any forethought whatsoever he informed us that we no longer held offices in his class due to our "immaturity" and the fact that we maliciously "went behind his back". Now, I'm sorry folks, but that might be the most outlandishly ridiculous thing I've had to listen to since Tony Hayward attempting to cover up the BP oil spill on national television. It was a joke, and a disgrace to respectable intellect everywhere. How this man, who I do genuinely respect, could sink so low as to throw a hissy-fit over a good-hearted faux petition concerning HAND SANITIZER is absolutely beyond me. But because of his little moment of insecurity, weakness, and need for control, I'm looking at resigning the position I've waited four years for.

I will be perfectly clear: If myself, or any of my fellow officers are removed from their hard-earned and well-deserved class positions, I will withdraw every bit of my support from this lab, and I will vehemently encourage my peers to do the same. This is a dictatorial scandal, a slap in the face of good leadership practices, and a blundering mistake. I will not support class fund raisers. I will not attend class banquets or meetings. I will not so much as consider joining BPA (Business Professionals of America) or entering into any related computer skills contests for the instructor's glory. I will continue to be a respectful student, and I will continue to do my work to the utmost of my abilities. However, if this confused, misdirected control-freak of a high school teacher and so-called professional asks for anything other than this, he can quite frankly shove it up his ass. I deserve to hold my office, and any outcome but that is an outrage and a mockery of the educational system in all its glorious flaws.

UPDATE: As of today, 9/24/10, our lab instructor decided to keep us all on board as class officers. Damn right.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Out of the Blender, Into the Microwave

Gah. Another wonderful Tuesday on the front lines of high school. Trouble with Ex-Girlfriend, grades, sickness, and blah-blah-blah-please-shoot-me.

Some of you folks at home might be thinking, " Shouldn't this imbecile at least have some of his life together? He's a senior, and by Jove I remember when I was a senior and how easy it was. It was back in nineteen-aught-nine, and the creation of the automobile..."

Hey, Grandpa, shut the hell up. I swear to God if one more person tells me the good ole "If I had half the brains you had when I was your age" story again, I will hijack the special-needs bus and drive it into a preschool.

But anyway, back to ze meat and potatoes, yes?

I just recently got over being bent over and taught a lesson by the common cold, and boy oh boy let me tell you...I still haven't developed the motivational skills for make-up work. I like to procrastinate. It works for me. So how am I supposed to put off something until the last minute when said something was due yesterday? Really, c'mon!

Then there's my home life, which is a pretty accurate example of what would have happened if Pearl Harbor had occurred in my comfy-cozy suburban Ohio neighborhood instead of Hawaii. I've got my lovely parents and their hot mess of a divorce, (God willing I don't die of old age before that little comedy finally ends) with Mom living over on Easy Street, bitching about how she won't be getting a few of her four-hundred-BUHJILLION dollar paychecks and how her new $700 toy poodle/inbred rat can't grasp the concept of shitting outside. Even her intellectually-questionable daughter could figure that little conundrum out.

Meanwhile, Dad and I struggle to make ends meet here in our shack, which Mom somehow finds astounding despite the fact that she has a fucking Masters degree in nursing or health or some other thing and Dad works part-time at the local Home Depot. Yeah, whine about your expenses while me and the old man are flipping furniture searching for enough change to buy a gallon of milk. *rips out hair*

As if all this weren't fun and jovial enough, I get to school today and discover that I'm failing environmental science. Before you write me off as a hopeless moron who will forever spend his life flailing around like a cat trapped behind the refrigerator, let me break that specific class down for you:

Environmental Science: Average Class Schedule

*Get to class
*Pick up clipboard and tree identifier packet (If you don't understand the hilarity behind this little nugget of gold, go here)
*Trek like four and a half miles outside of the school property to look at some trees that we probably have RIGHT OUTSIDE THE BUILDING
*Listen to the teacher stumble around blindly muttering things like "Does it have lobes?" and "Look at the stems...look at the stems..." under her breath like some sort of possessed tree-hugging drug addict.
*Wonder who in the hell thought of making this a full-credit course
*Go back to the school building
*Rinse and repeat every other day for a well-balanced brainwashing regimen.

Yep, that's right. They pay our teacher a REAL paycheck to pretend she can teach. I think this woman is something like twenty-eight or twenty-nine, and she doesn't know her asshole from a hole in the ground. I'm failing a class, FULL-CREDIT mind you, because I didn't know the difference between a southern live oak and a northern live oak. That's the high school I get to go to, Grandpa. *facepalm*

Finally we have the matter of Ex-Girlfriend. Woo-boy, this one's a doozy. Let me enlighten you with a snippet of conversation between her and I.

Ex-Girlfriend: But I do love you!

Me: Why are you with [insert asshole] then?

Ex-Girlfriend: (in strangely parrot-like voice) 'Cuz.

Me: Why?

Ex-Girlfriend: 'Cuz.

Me: ...Why?

Ex-Girlfriend: ...'Cuz.


Ex-Girlfriend: 'Cuz? 'Cuz? *commences to pick the bugs out of her feathers*

You can pretty much imagine the rest.

Well, until the next time world...enjoy.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Burning the Midnight Fuel, And Then Some

Well world, it's currently 2:23 AM and I have absolutely nothing productive to do. So I thought I'd share a conversation I had today between myself and a close friend.

Her: Well, I'm far from perfect...

Me: Isn't everybody? I mean, if we take you for instance...

Her: ...

Me: Like, you aren't my type AT ALL. And you're pretty short, which isn't a quality I find appealing. Plus you tan. Ick.

Her: *stares*

Me: But hey, look at it this way man. You might not be everybody's perfect, but you're certainly somebody's perfect. Know what I mean?

Her: Yeah. That was pretty deep dude. How am I supposed to know who that somebody is?

Me: Eh...process of elimination? Guess and check?

Her: *rolls eyes*

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Days Of Our 12th Grade Lives

I used to have this little creed or motto or  mantra  or what have you that I would remind myself of whenever I made a big mistake. "A lesson learned isn't always a lesson applied". It's relatively original, as far as my half-assed in-depth Google query was able to confirm. Well, as things would have it I once again decided to go swimming in the deep end of the pool, and it made me think: is a lesson ever really learned when it costs you nothing? I guess its sort of like free stuff versus stuff you bust your ass to have, and the difference in how you might value one over the other. I like to think I work hard for my screw-ups, especially the really ugly, "oh-man-Chris-is-really-effed-now" ones.

Things are getting crazy, as of late. It seems with every new year the bad choices I make compound themselves, growing larger and dumber as time progresses, a lot like my older sister or the population of the United States. I'm turning eighteen in a week and change, and I feel the weight of responsibility compounding in a similar way as each day is ticked off the calendar. My choices are beginning to cost me quite a bit. It was a sobering wake up call to hear the news today that two of my friends, amici, partners in crime, etc etc, are being charged with class 5 felonies for an undisclosed offense. That's big-kid jail, folks. They're both barely any older than me, and they're looking at a two year bid in a state prison, at the very least.

I suppose I knew this would happen eventually, but never this close to home. It guess its sort of like car accidents, or alien abductions, or cancer. You always hear about it and think "That's never going to happen to a guy like me". Then BAM! Life kicks you right in the proverbial cajones. I'm realizing its time to really start living by that motto, that this lesson learned needs to be applied.