-Saturday July 4, 2074
John Stephenson, AP Columnist
A cold wind blew over the gathering. As the coffin was lowered, tears filled eyes of even the most stoic among us. It was over. He was over. The crazy dream turned reality that had been a career no one, except perhaps Mr. Meggs himself, believed was possible, had finally ended. The priest said a simple, quaint eulogy and the final page turned. With a sigh, I returned home to my apartment, introspectively questioning what all this vast mystery of life was really about. I couldn't help but turn back, and with a touch of sadness, I released one last "Hooey."
Or not. That would have been all too poetically just, but as romantic as that sounds if there's one thing that man taught me, it's that humor is the only thing that should be constant in one's life. No, Meggs having an ordinary funeral would be about as appropriate as him being a novelist, politician, comedian, or even Nobel Prize winning trash collector. Although from the looks of it, each one of those and more was present at what can best be described as a "Finally a Vacation!" party. Revolutionary? Hardly. Appropriate? You bet your shiny metal britches!
D- Meggs grew up the impoverished son of a textile worker in Southern Alabama who was forced to teach himself during his youth so he wouldn't suffer from the “inadequacy” that was the Alabaman school system. Although he failed third grade thrice, he lucky in the fact that his teacher decided he was advanced enough to proceed to the public high school. While there, he enjoyed an illustrious career of breaking hearts, skulls, and records for an astonishing amount of sexual deviancy. Although he barely passed all of his math classes, he decided to pursue the subject because it was an area in which he didn't fear change. As he said, "If 2+2 starts equaling 5, then I'll still be right half the time." He graduated last in his class from a local college, moved to Knoxville because of a blood debt and what appeared to be an illegal child with his Puerto Rican man slave who had family in Nashville, and pursued an illustrious career of destroying the hope, dreams, and optimism of all students that faced his unmerciful wrath. At least, that's how he told it.
In fact, Meggs was fairly normal. He lived a standard, fairly uneventful youth. He possessed an above average intelligence, did quite well in school, proved charismatic in a disturbing, unorthodox way, and saw a number of pathways to a variety of futures open up before him. But being the unconventional bum he was, he settled for teaching high school, and speaking from experience, the world is a much better place for it.
As we stood listening to the comic (one of Meggs's former students), I couldn't help but remember the jokes the man himself had told. It was like an obsession. He had a dark, warped since of humor that would have been intimidating in a lesser man and undistinguished in a greater one. Some of the things he said were certainly grounds for lawsuits, but when you’d inspired the greatest lawyer Knoxville had seen in years to stop “Snorting coke and start blowing smoke” it was hard to get convicted of the numerous crimes he willfully admitted committing. He may not have been the best math whiz ever, but the man was indubitably entertaining.
After the comic, various former students, ranging from his first year in 2010 to his last from just last May, read their favorite quotes, snippets from his novels, and “math problems” in a session that proved touching, insightful, and downright hilarious. He’d never published any of them despite a great deal of encouragement, but the word was that he had left permission for his students to do “Whatever the Hell, Heaven, or Nirvana they pleased” with his “scribbles, doodlings, and obscene grotesqueries”, and a compilation was planned to be released on the first day of school in August. The school had already promised to make a “D- Meggs Memorial Bathroom” where his quotes will be strewn all over the walls where he often wrote them himself, in his spare time. He claimed to have his greatest inspirations in the bathroom, and his handwriting had become a permanent feature of every trip to the urinal.
Then came the dancing. Meggs never claimed to be a very graceful dancer, and he had given himself plenty of opportunities to prove himself right. The band played staples of his classroom that ranged from the 1700s all the way to a neo-neo-romantic classical piece one of his own students had composed last year. As many of us are getting on in years, we weren’t able to imitate our youthful experiences. But needless to say, we made up for our lack of motion with many very fond memories.
Finally we adjourned to the auditorium where the grand finale took place: Meggs’s last work, a brief summation of his entire life learnings and experiences, was read for the first time. It was really his suicide note, but none of us could dare call it that. He’d convinced so many of us against the idea that we knew his own death had been more of an “appropriate ending” than any of the selfish, futile plots of our days. In typical Meggs style, it proved amusing, sporadic, and optimistic (in a characteristically pessimistic way). There were truly tears in every eye, but not from sadness. No, these were of hope, joy, and nostalgia.
He spoke fondly of his “thankfully over past.” He described a few of us specifically in less than flattering manners, but we could picture the playful irreverent gleam in his eye as he had written it. He spoke of his expectations for us all. He encouraged us, as he always had, to just be happy, as he was so lucky to have been all his life, even at the moment he had killed himself.
As he seemingly spoke to us from the grave, I zoned out, as I had done so often in his math class those many years and ago, and thought of how much he had affected me. He had truly cared in an unobtrusive way that made him quite easy to get close to. As open a person as I’ve met, he brought himself down to our level and made himself more of an educated peer than an authority figure. I had hated math until his class, and even after it I still dreaded each period. But I learned not to worry so much about it. I learned that stress and lofty aspirations are not synonymous. Mr. Meggs taught me that I really, truly could do what I wanted. He just reminded me I’d have to pay the price, unlike other blind optimists. He encouraged us just to be happy, whatever that might involve (within reason). He was the first person to take an interest in my writing, the first to critique and actually try to interpret it, and the first to tell me never to stop. I followed his advice, and I’m happy to this very day. I think he’d be the most proud of me for that.
In all of his 64 years of teaching, D- Meggs inspired thousands. He listened. He cared. And, perhaps best of all, he entertained. To Mr. Meggs from all of his students, thank you. Mission Accomplished.
Sunday, October 31
Hope
It's my hope the above will come true. Certainly it won't in scale or quality, but if I can achieve even part of that, it will be a wondrous accomplishment.
Thinking about my own inevitable end is at once sad, intriguing, and beautiful. It's odd, how most everything truly beautiful is sad. Songs, movies, books; the best are generally poignant and touching. If I only had the ability... Ah well. So I wrote this because I was inspired by a line in another blog and by recent events that dealt with death and the future. I want to be that ideal. I want to have that death. Hopefully I'll try to accomplish it.
Over the past few days I've been reminded how much I enjoy helping people. I mean, helping them work out who and what they want to be. It'd be wonderful if I actually succeeded, but I'm just not experienced enough. Philosophy? I've got that. Optimism? I've got the best type. But I just can't answer every question. And when I can't, the disappointment's terrible. I'm still glad to listen and speak any advice I may or may not have. It's almost enough to make me switch my goal to psychiatry, but I don't think it's active enough for me. The money, the schooling, the contained nature... It just wouldn't work.
So I'm still back aiming for that goal. It does sound nice, doesn't it? If, in the end, all that's named for me is a High School Bathroom I think I'll have done pretty well. It's not about a material legacy. It's about affecting people for the better. It's about inspiring them to be what you decided not to be. It's about creating a ripple effect of happiness. I can only hope it will happen to me.
Thinking about my own inevitable end is at once sad, intriguing, and beautiful. It's odd, how most everything truly beautiful is sad. Songs, movies, books; the best are generally poignant and touching. If I only had the ability... Ah well. So I wrote this because I was inspired by a line in another blog and by recent events that dealt with death and the future. I want to be that ideal. I want to have that death. Hopefully I'll try to accomplish it.
Over the past few days I've been reminded how much I enjoy helping people. I mean, helping them work out who and what they want to be. It'd be wonderful if I actually succeeded, but I'm just not experienced enough. Philosophy? I've got that. Optimism? I've got the best type. But I just can't answer every question. And when I can't, the disappointment's terrible. I'm still glad to listen and speak any advice I may or may not have. It's almost enough to make me switch my goal to psychiatry, but I don't think it's active enough for me. The money, the schooling, the contained nature... It just wouldn't work.
So I'm still back aiming for that goal. It does sound nice, doesn't it? If, in the end, all that's named for me is a High School Bathroom I think I'll have done pretty well. It's not about a material legacy. It's about affecting people for the better. It's about inspiring them to be what you decided not to be. It's about creating a ripple effect of happiness. I can only hope it will happen to me.
Friday, October 29
Filling in the Blanks
Bleh, deleted my last entry by somehow highlighting the entire thing and hitting a letter key. Oh joy. Anyway, to sum up... I'm not going to fill in the blanks. Misleading, no? But some things to keep in mind:
1. Don't listen to the advice of the miserable. For instance, existentialism may be closer to "right" than anything we know, but if that's right I'd encourage you to be wrong anyday.
2. I've preached the "anti-gossip" sermon before, but I just thought I'd remind you. It's easier if you just don't worry about other people unless they need to be worried about.
3. Communicate what you mean. Please. Be as direct as possible. Don't hide things. Don't wait for people to pick up on them. Speak! Make sure people understand exactly what you mean. It's why I use smileys, to further express myself. To get closer to the true feeling. Sure they're really annoying, but they serve a purpose. So for crying out loud, talk!
4. As always, be happy, do happy, make happy.
1. Don't listen to the advice of the miserable. For instance, existentialism may be closer to "right" than anything we know, but if that's right I'd encourage you to be wrong anyday.
2. I've preached the "anti-gossip" sermon before, but I just thought I'd remind you. It's easier if you just don't worry about other people unless they need to be worried about.
3. Communicate what you mean. Please. Be as direct as possible. Don't hide things. Don't wait for people to pick up on them. Speak! Make sure people understand exactly what you mean. It's why I use smileys, to further express myself. To get closer to the true feeling. Sure they're really annoying, but they serve a purpose. So for crying out loud, talk!
4. As always, be happy, do happy, make happy.
Thursday, October 28
Recycling Makes Cents (2 down...)
(Prompt: Choose arts and literature, business and politics, or science and technology and discuss its value to society and a one of its specific problems. Given unlimited manpower and funds for 10 years, how would you maximize its benefit to society?)
Something that always amazes me is the mass of individual bubbles we surround ourselves with. We think in such localized terms with little thought given to the future of humanity. It’s simply a fact of the human experience. Thus, when issues such as environmental awareness come up, most people give it the typical lip service associated with such acts of goodwill. “That’s a wonderful idea, I completely agree. I’m just so busy, I can’t find time to recycle. Sorting the materials, finding a location to deposit them, driving home, it all takes so much time! I wish you the best of luck though, keep on doing good work.” Then they drive away in their football field-sized SUV, on their way to buy a few bags of Styrofoam peanuts to dump into a nearby polluted stream in order to “watch the fish get tricked into eating fake bread.” Ridiculous hyperbole, I know, but the point is made. If most people, myself included, aren’t given an economic reason to protect the environment they’re just not going to start anytime soon.
Now, you may be thinking at this moment, “this guy’s a crazy liberal who’s out to insert an agenda and a completely irrelevant topic into a essay just so he’ll have an easy time thinking up a problem.” While I won’t disagree with the “crazy liberal’ part, I think this issue has an incredible amount of relevance to business and politics. Business and politics are the vessels our society uses to live and evolve. Political movements raise awareness and slowly shape the way we think. Business provides the occupations and products to keep society working. Arts and literature are forms of expression and pastimes that are often overlooked by the average person. Science and technology are accepted without question: if it works and makes me happy, I don’t care how or why. They have little relevance to the individual. Relatively few people think of the arts, literature, science and technology; everyone thinks of business and politics. And that is precisely why it is absolutely necessary to integrate environmental awareness into the public eye and create business incentives to participate.
Wait a minute. There are already environmental incentives for businesses. And a politician can’t get elected unless he at least mentions his adoration for the outdoors and perhaps a clandestine midnight affair embracing some mighty elm that played a pivotal role in his arduous childhood. But those factors are too broad and arbitrary to apply to John Q. Public. What we need is a policy that affects each and every person.
What a coincidence! It seems I’ve unlimited funds and resources to accomplish such a lofty goal. Initially I thought that with such resources anything short of an absolute utopia would be a failure of vision and creativity on my part. But if there’s one thing economics has taught me, it’s that money and men only make the situation proportionally more complex as the amount involved increases. Thus, with unlimited funds and manpower, I ought to establish an unlimited amount of economical chaos. As appealing as that may sound, I’ll have to contain myself to a more realistic approach (which, relatively speaking, isn’t saying much).
Now, I’ve admitted I’m a liberal. The enormous burden of responsibility placed upon me by that almost masochistic ideology is enough to inspire me to conserve gas and recycle as much as I can. But liberal guilt trips don’t faze the average person. That extra thirty minutes a week that such a colossal endeavor as recycling requires are thirty minutes of quality reality TV lost forever, never to be regained. Oxymoron aside, people have other priorities, making money generally foremost among them. So the logical conclusion is to combine the two.
My idea would be to provide more incentives for businesses to use recycled materials and for individuals to provide them. In time, with future advances in technology, it might become a self-sufficient relationship. At the moment, though, I’m not leaving the matter at the whim of the Magical Invisible Hand of Market. What needs to be done is for overt, obvious recycling areas to be available practically everywhere. I don’t mean hidden in some dark labyrinth of back alleys behind the neighborhood mega-grocery store like mine. They need to be glaringly obvious. Perhaps there can be gigantic patriotic monuments made out of recycled materials indicating every available area. Or maybe they’ll just be neon pink. At any rate, they’ll be noticeable to everyone.
All good business ventures need high quality advertising. Although “Don’t Throw Down on K-Town” is lovely little motto, billboards just don’t have the mind numbing flair that TV commercials do. Of course, these commercials will not be paltry local efforts written and directed by Mr. Fleisman’s 6th grade Science Class. No, these will have action, adventure, romance, and possibly even pirates (they certainly beat the “hippie” mascot). Picture an epic pirate siege onto a garbage barge searching for buried treasure in the form of cans, bottles, and cardboard. After their victorious foray they redeem their booty for doubloons, toaster ovens, and all the vodka they want, demonstrating what one misses by not recycling. Obviously this is for the Monday Night Football Crowd; a variety of other alternatives will be available for other demographics.
So the people are hooked. Here’s where the incentives comes in. In the days of yore, I believe people were often paid for bringing their materials to local recycling establishments. Perhaps that service is still offered in some magical distant land, but here in the Ville of Knox, I know of no such facility. This is probably because I haven’t looked (once again enforcing the purpose of the advertising). But even if I did look, I’m sure I’d find some Mom and Pop shop that barely pays for the gas money. No, I’m talking big incentives. Not quite enough to encourage people to drink soda just for the privilege of getting can money, but so close you can taste it. This will be sold very cheaply to businesses who ought to jump at the opportunity to save money (call it a hunch). Since I’ve only got the next ten years, the price will gradually be increased until it becomes self-sufficient: the businesses pay the individuals for the materials. As mentioned above, by that time it’s hoped technology will be in place that makes this possible. In time, even more materials can hopefully be recycled. If it worked for Seinfeld, why not Styrofoam, complete automobiles, and, dare I say it, junk mail (plastic wrappers and all).
There’s my plan. What has it accomplished? It’s provided extra income for individuals. It’s provided cheap resources for businesses. It’s helped the environment. It’s entertained people. And, perhaps most importantly, it’s helped pirate PR everywhere. I’d call that a success any way you look at it.
Something that always amazes me is the mass of individual bubbles we surround ourselves with. We think in such localized terms with little thought given to the future of humanity. It’s simply a fact of the human experience. Thus, when issues such as environmental awareness come up, most people give it the typical lip service associated with such acts of goodwill. “That’s a wonderful idea, I completely agree. I’m just so busy, I can’t find time to recycle. Sorting the materials, finding a location to deposit them, driving home, it all takes so much time! I wish you the best of luck though, keep on doing good work.” Then they drive away in their football field-sized SUV, on their way to buy a few bags of Styrofoam peanuts to dump into a nearby polluted stream in order to “watch the fish get tricked into eating fake bread.” Ridiculous hyperbole, I know, but the point is made. If most people, myself included, aren’t given an economic reason to protect the environment they’re just not going to start anytime soon.
Now, you may be thinking at this moment, “this guy’s a crazy liberal who’s out to insert an agenda and a completely irrelevant topic into a essay just so he’ll have an easy time thinking up a problem.” While I won’t disagree with the “crazy liberal’ part, I think this issue has an incredible amount of relevance to business and politics. Business and politics are the vessels our society uses to live and evolve. Political movements raise awareness and slowly shape the way we think. Business provides the occupations and products to keep society working. Arts and literature are forms of expression and pastimes that are often overlooked by the average person. Science and technology are accepted without question: if it works and makes me happy, I don’t care how or why. They have little relevance to the individual. Relatively few people think of the arts, literature, science and technology; everyone thinks of business and politics. And that is precisely why it is absolutely necessary to integrate environmental awareness into the public eye and create business incentives to participate.
Wait a minute. There are already environmental incentives for businesses. And a politician can’t get elected unless he at least mentions his adoration for the outdoors and perhaps a clandestine midnight affair embracing some mighty elm that played a pivotal role in his arduous childhood. But those factors are too broad and arbitrary to apply to John Q. Public. What we need is a policy that affects each and every person.
What a coincidence! It seems I’ve unlimited funds and resources to accomplish such a lofty goal. Initially I thought that with such resources anything short of an absolute utopia would be a failure of vision and creativity on my part. But if there’s one thing economics has taught me, it’s that money and men only make the situation proportionally more complex as the amount involved increases. Thus, with unlimited funds and manpower, I ought to establish an unlimited amount of economical chaos. As appealing as that may sound, I’ll have to contain myself to a more realistic approach (which, relatively speaking, isn’t saying much).
Now, I’ve admitted I’m a liberal. The enormous burden of responsibility placed upon me by that almost masochistic ideology is enough to inspire me to conserve gas and recycle as much as I can. But liberal guilt trips don’t faze the average person. That extra thirty minutes a week that such a colossal endeavor as recycling requires are thirty minutes of quality reality TV lost forever, never to be regained. Oxymoron aside, people have other priorities, making money generally foremost among them. So the logical conclusion is to combine the two.
My idea would be to provide more incentives for businesses to use recycled materials and for individuals to provide them. In time, with future advances in technology, it might become a self-sufficient relationship. At the moment, though, I’m not leaving the matter at the whim of the Magical Invisible Hand of Market. What needs to be done is for overt, obvious recycling areas to be available practically everywhere. I don’t mean hidden in some dark labyrinth of back alleys behind the neighborhood mega-grocery store like mine. They need to be glaringly obvious. Perhaps there can be gigantic patriotic monuments made out of recycled materials indicating every available area. Or maybe they’ll just be neon pink. At any rate, they’ll be noticeable to everyone.
All good business ventures need high quality advertising. Although “Don’t Throw Down on K-Town” is lovely little motto, billboards just don’t have the mind numbing flair that TV commercials do. Of course, these commercials will not be paltry local efforts written and directed by Mr. Fleisman’s 6th grade Science Class. No, these will have action, adventure, romance, and possibly even pirates (they certainly beat the “hippie” mascot). Picture an epic pirate siege onto a garbage barge searching for buried treasure in the form of cans, bottles, and cardboard. After their victorious foray they redeem their booty for doubloons, toaster ovens, and all the vodka they want, demonstrating what one misses by not recycling. Obviously this is for the Monday Night Football Crowd; a variety of other alternatives will be available for other demographics.
So the people are hooked. Here’s where the incentives comes in. In the days of yore, I believe people were often paid for bringing their materials to local recycling establishments. Perhaps that service is still offered in some magical distant land, but here in the Ville of Knox, I know of no such facility. This is probably because I haven’t looked (once again enforcing the purpose of the advertising). But even if I did look, I’m sure I’d find some Mom and Pop shop that barely pays for the gas money. No, I’m talking big incentives. Not quite enough to encourage people to drink soda just for the privilege of getting can money, but so close you can taste it. This will be sold very cheaply to businesses who ought to jump at the opportunity to save money (call it a hunch). Since I’ve only got the next ten years, the price will gradually be increased until it becomes self-sufficient: the businesses pay the individuals for the materials. As mentioned above, by that time it’s hoped technology will be in place that makes this possible. In time, even more materials can hopefully be recycled. If it worked for Seinfeld, why not Styrofoam, complete automobiles, and, dare I say it, junk mail (plastic wrappers and all).
There’s my plan. What has it accomplished? It’s provided extra income for individuals. It’s provided cheap resources for businesses. It’s helped the environment. It’s entertained people. And, perhaps most importantly, it’s helped pirate PR everywhere. I’d call that a success any way you look at it.
Quick Note
Tonight is for college essays. Tomorrow is for clearing things up. Until then Be happy, do happy, make happy. Please?
Wwhhaaa? Leadership For Me? Never! (For UT)
For most of my years at West High School, I was content to have a very passive role in school activities. I was in Marching Band, I joined Mu Alpha Thaeda (which I became President of this year), and I participated in National Honors Society. But for the most part, I came home everyday after school and moped at home, aimless, for hours. Even though the lack of obligations was nice, it became quite boring, quite fast. I wanted something more. I wanted some after-school activity that I could look forward to every week. I wanted something fun.
The task proved quite daunting. Like all high schools, West has numerous clubs. However, none seemed to really fit me. The Student Council seemed to have as much to do with leadership as politics has to do with morality. Singing songs and organizing dances I’d never go to wouldn’t do. The Academic Team seemed my sort of “sport’, but it sounded too much like a trivia contest with emphasis on reflexes, entirely too stressful and arduous than what I wanted. There were many others, such as FCA and DECA, but none suited my objectives. So I took matters into my own hands and decided to start my own club after a favorite pastime of mine: Board and Card gaming.
My dream was a laidback, stress-free club where the main motivation would certainly not be a college resume (the irony of me writing this paper on the experience is duly noted). The sole purpose would be enjoyment. A revolutionary concept, I know, but it was exactly what I wanted. My friends responded quite favorably, so I next set my sights on a sponsor. I talked to one of my favorite teachers, Mr. Petko, and he was quite enthusiastic about the idea. His words were something like, “I think one of the best things about West is that is has something for everyone.” Even those of "slightly unconventional tastes" like me.
Now all I needed was a witty advertising campaign to get out the good word! All products need a name, so I spent a surprising amount of time trying to find something that fit. I sought many opinions with results ranging from the “Gaming Club” to “Bored Gaming”, but as we neither shot pheasants nor slept through the entire thing, neither were apt. Then, one of my friends had an epiphany: The Cardboard Club. It was genius! And, like all genius, I soon corrupted it into a horrible pun, as evidenced by my first poster idea: Red title reading “Communism got you down?” Insert Picture of sad stick figure and Communist flag. “Try Laissez Faire!” Insert that staple of American ideology and leisure, The Uncle Pennybags Monopoly Logo. Then, at the bottom, “Are you Cardboard material?” Painful, and iconoclastic, I know, but that was the sort of odd, witty, entertaining thing I wanted to create.
The club went, and has gone, remarkably well. There isn’t a large member base, but the people who do come are quite dedicated. We have a great time working on our social skills, learning to function as a team, and facing disappointment. But mostly we just have fun. Founding and leading the Cardboard Club is definitely my best experience at West. It’s practically my legacy, and I hope it will remain at West for years to come.
The task proved quite daunting. Like all high schools, West has numerous clubs. However, none seemed to really fit me. The Student Council seemed to have as much to do with leadership as politics has to do with morality. Singing songs and organizing dances I’d never go to wouldn’t do. The Academic Team seemed my sort of “sport’, but it sounded too much like a trivia contest with emphasis on reflexes, entirely too stressful and arduous than what I wanted. There were many others, such as FCA and DECA, but none suited my objectives. So I took matters into my own hands and decided to start my own club after a favorite pastime of mine: Board and Card gaming.
My dream was a laidback, stress-free club where the main motivation would certainly not be a college resume (the irony of me writing this paper on the experience is duly noted). The sole purpose would be enjoyment. A revolutionary concept, I know, but it was exactly what I wanted. My friends responded quite favorably, so I next set my sights on a sponsor. I talked to one of my favorite teachers, Mr. Petko, and he was quite enthusiastic about the idea. His words were something like, “I think one of the best things about West is that is has something for everyone.” Even those of "slightly unconventional tastes" like me.
Now all I needed was a witty advertising campaign to get out the good word! All products need a name, so I spent a surprising amount of time trying to find something that fit. I sought many opinions with results ranging from the “Gaming Club” to “Bored Gaming”, but as we neither shot pheasants nor slept through the entire thing, neither were apt. Then, one of my friends had an epiphany: The Cardboard Club. It was genius! And, like all genius, I soon corrupted it into a horrible pun, as evidenced by my first poster idea: Red title reading “Communism got you down?” Insert Picture of sad stick figure and Communist flag. “Try Laissez Faire!” Insert that staple of American ideology and leisure, The Uncle Pennybags Monopoly Logo. Then, at the bottom, “Are you Cardboard material?” Painful, and iconoclastic, I know, but that was the sort of odd, witty, entertaining thing I wanted to create.
The club went, and has gone, remarkably well. There isn’t a large member base, but the people who do come are quite dedicated. We have a great time working on our social skills, learning to function as a team, and facing disappointment. But mostly we just have fun. Founding and leading the Cardboard Club is definitely my best experience at West. It’s practically my legacy, and I hope it will remain at West for years to come.
Wednesday, October 27
I HATE CONFRONTATIONS
I HATE THEM. I HATE THEM ALMOST ENOUGH TO DROP THE BLASTED F-BOMB. I'M INCREDIBLY TEMPTED. I HATE THEM. HATE THEM HATE THEM HATE THEM.
And the worst part is when they go awry, when someone is inconvenienced, when everyone is not happy because of something that results from them, I get so incredibly conflicted my mind immediately resorts to suicide. I just want the conflict to stop through any method necessary. I want it to end and never, ever, ever occur again. Even for the most trivial affairs. Confrontations drive me absolutely crazy. When others are inconvenienced, annoyed, hurt, inflamed whatever because of something that transpired by me needing something... RAWR!
In case you didn't notice, the stress is turning up. College essays need to be done SOON. And I've got that blasted Shakespeare project to hang over me. And then I turn around and high school's practically done. I feel like cursing. My inability to is only making matters worse. *Imagines glove* I sure hope this works...
And the worst part is when they go awry, when someone is inconvenienced, when everyone is not happy because of something that results from them, I get so incredibly conflicted my mind immediately resorts to suicide. I just want the conflict to stop through any method necessary. I want it to end and never, ever, ever occur again. Even for the most trivial affairs. Confrontations drive me absolutely crazy. When others are inconvenienced, annoyed, hurt, inflamed whatever because of something that transpired by me needing something... RAWR!
In case you didn't notice, the stress is turning up. College essays need to be done SOON. And I've got that blasted Shakespeare project to hang over me. And then I turn around and high school's practically done. I feel like cursing. My inability to is only making matters worse. *Imagines glove* I sure hope this works...