derek and simon are coming over now, which is good because it’s going to save me some time at lunch.
me: give me your math homework.
simon: sure. here.
what a friend.
the first bell rings. like all the bells in our fine institution of lower learning, it’s not a bell at all, it’s a long beep, like you’re about to leave a voicemail saying you’re having the suckiest day ever. and nobody’s ever going to listen to it.
I have no idea why anyone would want to become a teacher. i mean, you have to spend the day with a group of kids who either hate your guts or are kissing up to you to get a good grade. that has to get to you after a while, being surrounded by people who will never like you for any real reason. i’d feel bad for them if they weren’t such sadists and losers. with the sadists, it’s all about the power and the control. they teach so they can have an official reason to dominate other people. and the losers make up pretty much all the other teachers, from the ones who are too incompetent to do anything else to the ones who want to be their students’ best friends because they never had friends when they were in high school. and there are the ones who honestly think we’re going to remember a thing they say to us after final exams are over. right.
every now and then you get a teacher like mrs. grover, who’s a sadistic loser. i mean, it can’t be easy being a french teacher, because nobody really needs to know how to speak french anymore. and while she kisses the honors kids’ derrieres , with standard kids she resents the fact that we’re taking up her time. so she responds by giving us quizzes every day and giving us g*y projects like ‘design your own ride for euro disney’ and then acting all surprised when i’m like ‘yeah, my ride for euro disney is minnie using a baguette as a dildo to have some fun with mickey.’ since i don’t have any idea how to say ‘dildo’ in french (dildot?), i just say ‘dildo’ and she pretends to have no idea what i’m talking about and says that minnie and mickey eating baguettes isn’t a ride. no doubt she gives me a check-minus for the day. i know i’m supposed to care, but really it’s hard to imagine something i could care less about than my grade in french.
the only worthwhile thing i do all period - all morning, really - is write isaac, isaac, isaac in my notebook and then draw spider-man spelling it out in a web. which is completely lame, but whatever. it’s not like i’m doing it to be cool.
I sit with derek and simon at lunch. the way it is with us, it’s like we’re sitting in a waiting room. every now and then we’ll say something, but mostly we stick to our own chair-sized spaces. occasionally we’ll read magazines. if someone comes over, we’ll look up. but that doesn’t happen often. we ignore most of the people who walk by, even the ones we’re supposed to lust after. it’s not like derek and simon are into girls. basically, they like computers.
derek: do you think the X18 software will be released before summer?
simon: i read on trustmaster’s blog that it might. that would be cool.
me: here’s your homework back.
when i look at the guys and girls at the other tables, i wonder what they could possibly have to say to each other. they’re all so boring and they’re all trying to make up for it by talking louder. i’d rather just sit here and eat.
I have this ritual, that when it hits two o’clock i allow myself to get excited about leaving. it’s like if i reach that point i can take the rest of the day off.
It happens in math, and maura is sitting next to me. she figured out in october what i was doing, so now every day at two she passes me a slip of paper with something on it. like ’congratulations’ or ‘can we go now?’ or ‘if this period doesn’t end soon i am going to slit my own skull.’ i know i should write her back, but mostly i nod. i think she wants us to go out on a date or something, and i don’t know what to do about that.
everyone in our school has afterschool activities.
mine is going home.
sometimes i stop and board for a while in the park, but not in february, not in this witch-twat-frigid chicago suburb (known to locals as naperville). if i go out there now, i’ll freeze my balls off. not that i’m putting them to any use whatsoever, but i still like to have them, just in case.
plus i’ve got better things to do than have the college dropouts tell me when i can ramp (usually about . . . never) and have the skatepunks from our school look down at me because i’m not cool enough to smoke and drink with them and i’m not cool enough to be straightedge. i’m no-edge as far as they’re concerned. i stopped trying to be in their in-crowd-that-doesn’t-admit-it’s-an-in-crowd when i left ninth grade. it’s not like boarding is my life or anything.
I like having the house to myself when i get home. i don’t have to feel guilty about ignoring my mom if she’s not around.
I head to the computer first and see if isaac’s online. he’s not, so i fix myself a cheese sandwich (i’m too lazy to grill it) and jerk off. it takes about ten minutes, but it’s not like i’m timing it.
Isaac’s still not on when i get back. he’s the only person on my ‘buddy list,’ which is the stupidest f**king name for a list. what are we, three years old?
me: hey, isaac, wanna be my buddy!?
Isaac: sure, buddy! let’s go fishin’!
Isaac knows how stupid i find these things, and he finds them just as stupid as i do. like lol. now, if there’s anything stupider than buddy lists, it’s lol. if anyone ever uses lol with me, i rip my computer right out of the wall and smash it over the nearest head. i mean, it’s not like anyone is laughing out loud about the things they lol. i think it should be spelled loll, like what a lobotomized person’s tongue does. loll. loll. i can’t think any more. loll. loll!
or ttyl. bitch, you’re not actually talking. that would require actual vocal contact. or <3. you think that looks like a heart? if you do, that’s only because you’ve never seen scrotum.
(rofl! what? are you really rolling on the floor laughing? well, please stay down there a sec while I KICK YOUR ASS.)
I had to tell maura that my mom made me get rid of my instant messenger in order for her to stop popping up whenever i was trying to do something.
gothblood4567: ’sup?
finalwill: i’m working.
gothblood4567: on what?
finalwill: my suicide note. i can’t figure out how to end it.