Yesterday was really awful. It started out badly because I had to be at school at 7:00am, and my parents were leaving for Phoenix later in the day. They won't be back until Saturday. I know most teenagers rejoice when their parents leave town, but I'm under enough stress without having to maintain the house and care for my brother as well, not to mention worrying about their plane crashing and stuff.
Plus they keep flying off to warm places for fun and sun while leaving me here in the cold, windy realm of responsibility.
And then there was the volleyball. I won't go into detail, but if you've ever seen Daria, and if you recall the opening theme sequence, you'll probably remember the shot of her standing stoically in gym class, as a volleyball bounces about 6 inches from her, and about three seconds after it passes, she slowly extends one hand into the path of the ball. That is me. However, ignoring the ball completely quickly lost its appeal when my team ordered me to stand in the corner so as to keep out of the way, useless as I was, thus attracting the attention of my Coach, who asked why I wasn't participating. I explained that I *tried* to hit the ball, but that when I see a large heavy object flying at my head, my natural instinct is to move out of the collision trajectory. He told me to just do my best. So I did, my best being throwing my arms up to protect me head while screaming, instead of just moving to the side. The entire class proceeded to laugh at me for the rest of the period.
After that little foray in the 5th circle, I went to lunch to check on the AIDS project table, and found six people sitting around eating lunch and talking, and about $2 in change in the collection jar. This did not make me happy in the least, and I proceeded to yell at them rather loudly. The whole situation probably upset me more because one of the offenders was a certain female whose name starts with "T" and ends in "-amila", and when I told her that she wasn't supposed to be there (which she wasn't) she argued that she had every right to be there (which she didn't) and I proceeded to scream some more.
I then asked Todd to give me a reason why I shouldn't murder her with my bare hands. After seeming to grapple for a reason, *any* reason, for a few moments, his reply amounted to the fact that I had already told him, and he would therefore be an accomplice in the crime. And that is where iced the very shitty cake by making a total ass out of myself.
The day eventually got better, when I went to a MOrawk meeting and then out to the Mudhouse with Hannah and Courtney to regale them with the daily installment of "tales from adventures in high school".
Today was better, although there was still Volleyball. I'm actually (sorta) hitting the ball now, but I still suck horribly and I've become the prime human target. Today I got hit in the left boob (several high fives resulted for the marksman) and the back of the neck, both followed by extended choruses of laughter from all penis-toting witnesses. I hate anything with balls.
I have now decided that if Volleyball is involved, it is a bad day, which conversely means that any day not involving Volleyball is a relatively good day. I'll remember that to perk of my spirits when I'm late for work or lose my housekey in the future: "At least I'm not playing Volleyball..."
More adventures in Springfield:
My dad wanted me to research Liens on our property for some new sewer proposal in our neighborhood, so I went to the courthouse looking for public records. I was well aware (as my father had taught me years ago) that whenever bureaucracy is involved, nothing is ever simple, and I would probably be sent six different places before I actually found what I needed. That's exactly what happened. I started at the new courthouse, and was directed to the old courthouse, about a half-block away. At the old courthouse I was sent to two different rooms, then sent *back* to the new courthouse. Upon my second trip to the new courthouse, I was sent to what I thought was the correct room, but when I started searching I found out that in fact that was the room for *criminal* records, and I should go back to the *old* courthouse. Tired of walking back and forth between courthouses, I narrowed my eyes at the clerk. He gave me a web address. The web address helped me find my dad's property records, but as there's no record of liens on the deed, I had to do a search on the "lien search engine". That was about 30 minutes ago, and the screen still reads "The server is currently busy... please try again Searching... Please wait"
...
...
After "Mission: Futile" at the courhouse(s) I stopped by The Stock Exchange on my way home and picked up an awesome new outfit. I got some comfortable jeans with patches, fabric, ribbons, and Picasso faces on them, and a gray tank top with lace. Usually I hate shopping, but buying a really awesome and comfortable outfit for $8.53 really made me feel a lot better.
Tomorrow I'm on the go. Lit Mag editing, voice lesson, and cappies show! Woo-hoo!
Plus they keep flying off to warm places for fun and sun while leaving me here in the cold, windy realm of responsibility.
And then there was the volleyball. I won't go into detail, but if you've ever seen Daria, and if you recall the opening theme sequence, you'll probably remember the shot of her standing stoically in gym class, as a volleyball bounces about 6 inches from her, and about three seconds after it passes, she slowly extends one hand into the path of the ball. That is me. However, ignoring the ball completely quickly lost its appeal when my team ordered me to stand in the corner so as to keep out of the way, useless as I was, thus attracting the attention of my Coach, who asked why I wasn't participating. I explained that I *tried* to hit the ball, but that when I see a large heavy object flying at my head, my natural instinct is to move out of the collision trajectory. He told me to just do my best. So I did, my best being throwing my arms up to protect me head while screaming, instead of just moving to the side. The entire class proceeded to laugh at me for the rest of the period.
After that little foray in the 5th circle, I went to lunch to check on the AIDS project table, and found six people sitting around eating lunch and talking, and about $2 in change in the collection jar. This did not make me happy in the least, and I proceeded to yell at them rather loudly. The whole situation probably upset me more because one of the offenders was a certain female whose name starts with "T" and ends in "-amila", and when I told her that she wasn't supposed to be there (which she wasn't) she argued that she had every right to be there (which she didn't) and I proceeded to scream some more.
I then asked Todd to give me a reason why I shouldn't murder her with my bare hands. After seeming to grapple for a reason, *any* reason, for a few moments, his reply amounted to the fact that I had already told him, and he would therefore be an accomplice in the crime. And that is where iced the very shitty cake by making a total ass out of myself.
The day eventually got better, when I went to a MOrawk meeting and then out to the Mudhouse with Hannah and Courtney to regale them with the daily installment of "tales from adventures in high school".
Today was better, although there was still Volleyball. I'm actually (sorta) hitting the ball now, but I still suck horribly and I've become the prime human target. Today I got hit in the left boob (several high fives resulted for the marksman) and the back of the neck, both followed by extended choruses of laughter from all penis-toting witnesses. I hate anything with balls.
I have now decided that if Volleyball is involved, it is a bad day, which conversely means that any day not involving Volleyball is a relatively good day. I'll remember that to perk of my spirits when I'm late for work or lose my housekey in the future: "At least I'm not playing Volleyball..."
More adventures in Springfield:
My dad wanted me to research Liens on our property for some new sewer proposal in our neighborhood, so I went to the courthouse looking for public records. I was well aware (as my father had taught me years ago) that whenever bureaucracy is involved, nothing is ever simple, and I would probably be sent six different places before I actually found what I needed. That's exactly what happened. I started at the new courthouse, and was directed to the old courthouse, about a half-block away. At the old courthouse I was sent to two different rooms, then sent *back* to the new courthouse. Upon my second trip to the new courthouse, I was sent to what I thought was the correct room, but when I started searching I found out that in fact that was the room for *criminal* records, and I should go back to the *old* courthouse. Tired of walking back and forth between courthouses, I narrowed my eyes at the clerk. He gave me a web address. The web address helped me find my dad's property records, but as there's no record of liens on the deed, I had to do a search on the "lien search engine". That was about 30 minutes ago, and the screen still reads "The server is currently busy... please try again Searching... Please wait"
...
...
After "Mission: Futile" at the courhouse(s) I stopped by The Stock Exchange on my way home and picked up an awesome new outfit. I got some comfortable jeans with patches, fabric, ribbons, and Picasso faces on them, and a gray tank top with lace. Usually I hate shopping, but buying a really awesome and comfortable outfit for $8.53 really made me feel a lot better.
Tomorrow I'm on the go. Lit Mag editing, voice lesson, and cappies show! Woo-hoo!
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