Of Mixups and Men
I'm going to do this entry backwards, Memento-style.
Today was Mother's Day, so I got my mom some earrings. My cousin's fiancee was over here with the rest of my huge extended fam, and she did my hair up lovely. Too bad I can't sleep on it.
Yesterday I worked for eight hours in a shack by myself, and it was wonderful. I sat in an open-air shack and felt the sweet May breeze. $5.15 an hour never looked so good. Later I met Hannah and Raymond w/companions for coffee at the new Starbucks (springfield's first *real* one, besides the dinky one inside Barnes and Noble) just so I could see how much I'd hate it. I hate it. It's so pretentious. Blugh.
Friday night was Prom and it sucked. I had no date, so I went with friends, which I thought would be fun. And it was, for a bit. The problem was, Laura had a date, which isn't a problem in itself of course, it's just that the few times I was dancing with him it reminded me of a certain-someone-I-used-to-do-things-like-that-with, and I immediately began missing him, not just for him but for the role he used to fill. I was then feeling deeply sorry for myself for not having a Dream Prom. How stupid is that. Our culture has built up Senior Prom to be this huge big deal that's supposed to be one of the best nights of a young girl's life, the absolute pinnacle of the high school experience, the cherry on top of the Ice Cream Sunday that is Senior Year. All that just so when there's no prince charming to wisk you about in a white limo and shower you with sweatmeats and roses, you feel like there must be something wrong with you, that you are so undeserving of this glorious right of passage, and you must therefore not be the princess your mother tries to convince you you are. Your proverbial tiara has been taken away from you, and you are nothing more than a Cinderella whose fairy godmother forgot about her and must therefore turn away from her dream, push her hair out of her eyes, bite back her tears, and go back to scrubbing the dishes. Insert rusted spoon and twist. Let's get back to the real world.
But that's just what loser girls who can't get dates say because they're jealous.
Thursday I took the AP Lit exam. It was bad, but not as bad as I thought it would be. I went out to lunch with fellow over-achievers and watched the seires finale of Friends with my mommy. We cried.
Wednesday I worked.
Tuesday was the Spring Choir Concert, where I recieved The Bridesmaid Award (you know, always a bridesmaid, never a bride) for being basically the fourth-best senior soprano, if you don't count the girl who switches between soprano and alto all the time. Being the fourth best means that I never get the spots I want in contests, ensembles, select choirs, solos, etc etc etc you name it, but I am so eeensy weeensy close that I still feel shafted, and not just like a huge loser. So I feel like both. I "reflected" on this in my senior speech, and thus earned myself a Bridesmaid Award. Therefore, at least I will be remembered for *something*.
Before the Concert on Tuesday, I spoke to (drumroll) Him/Former Friend/He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named/that guy. He wanted to set a few things straight, like for instance, I *WAS* *NOT* the one who made him cry at the Poetry Slam that one time! That's right, it *WASN'T* *MY* *FAULT* *HANNAH* (hannah please don't leave me nasty comments, we've already had this discussion. it's just that the other readers don't know yet). I suppose we're okay now. I suppose I can feel comfortable around him now. It's just... odd. Oddness. Oddity. After a few minutes of talking to him, we started talking as though nothing had happened, and it was only yesterday that we'd last spoken, and we still knew everything about each other, and there had never been a sixth-month period where we'd not spoken. Strange...the last time I spoke to him as a friend was after the opening Fall Concert of the Year, and the next time I spoke to him as a friend was before the finale Spring Concert... freaky.
Anyway, the intimacy is still there in some form, it's just... different. Evolved. We're both kind of the same, but still different. Evolved. There's an undertone of something that's changed, but somehow all the old stuff is still there too. It's almost a feeling of limbo. I don't really know what to think right now, or where we'll go from here. I'm still afraid of him, somewhere in the very center of my bones, an infinitessimally thin line of centrality that runs through the core of my marrow. Small, but focused, and it's the feeling that everything else is built upon.
I don't remember Monday at all.
Sunday I went to a bridal shower for afformentioned cousin's fiancee, then to a visitation for my great aunt. My paternal grandmother is now the last sibling standing.
I'm going to do this entry backwards, Memento-style.
Today was Mother's Day, so I got my mom some earrings. My cousin's fiancee was over here with the rest of my huge extended fam, and she did my hair up lovely. Too bad I can't sleep on it.
Yesterday I worked for eight hours in a shack by myself, and it was wonderful. I sat in an open-air shack and felt the sweet May breeze. $5.15 an hour never looked so good. Later I met Hannah and Raymond w/companions for coffee at the new Starbucks (springfield's first *real* one, besides the dinky one inside Barnes and Noble) just so I could see how much I'd hate it. I hate it. It's so pretentious. Blugh.
Friday night was Prom and it sucked. I had no date, so I went with friends, which I thought would be fun. And it was, for a bit. The problem was, Laura had a date, which isn't a problem in itself of course, it's just that the few times I was dancing with him it reminded me of a certain-someone-I-used-to-do-things-like-that-with, and I immediately began missing him, not just for him but for the role he used to fill. I was then feeling deeply sorry for myself for not having a Dream Prom. How stupid is that. Our culture has built up Senior Prom to be this huge big deal that's supposed to be one of the best nights of a young girl's life, the absolute pinnacle of the high school experience, the cherry on top of the Ice Cream Sunday that is Senior Year. All that just so when there's no prince charming to wisk you about in a white limo and shower you with sweatmeats and roses, you feel like there must be something wrong with you, that you are so undeserving of this glorious right of passage, and you must therefore not be the princess your mother tries to convince you you are. Your proverbial tiara has been taken away from you, and you are nothing more than a Cinderella whose fairy godmother forgot about her and must therefore turn away from her dream, push her hair out of her eyes, bite back her tears, and go back to scrubbing the dishes. Insert rusted spoon and twist. Let's get back to the real world.
But that's just what loser girls who can't get dates say because they're jealous.
Thursday I took the AP Lit exam. It was bad, but not as bad as I thought it would be. I went out to lunch with fellow over-achievers and watched the seires finale of Friends with my mommy. We cried.
Wednesday I worked.
Tuesday was the Spring Choir Concert, where I recieved The Bridesmaid Award (you know, always a bridesmaid, never a bride) for being basically the fourth-best senior soprano, if you don't count the girl who switches between soprano and alto all the time. Being the fourth best means that I never get the spots I want in contests, ensembles, select choirs, solos, etc etc etc you name it, but I am so eeensy weeensy close that I still feel shafted, and not just like a huge loser. So I feel like both. I "reflected" on this in my senior speech, and thus earned myself a Bridesmaid Award. Therefore, at least I will be remembered for *something*.
Before the Concert on Tuesday, I spoke to (drumroll) Him/Former Friend/He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named/that guy. He wanted to set a few things straight, like for instance, I *WAS* *NOT* the one who made him cry at the Poetry Slam that one time! That's right, it *WASN'T* *MY* *FAULT* *HANNAH* (hannah please don't leave me nasty comments, we've already had this discussion. it's just that the other readers don't know yet). I suppose we're okay now. I suppose I can feel comfortable around him now. It's just... odd. Oddness. Oddity. After a few minutes of talking to him, we started talking as though nothing had happened, and it was only yesterday that we'd last spoken, and we still knew everything about each other, and there had never been a sixth-month period where we'd not spoken. Strange...the last time I spoke to him as a friend was after the opening Fall Concert of the Year, and the next time I spoke to him as a friend was before the finale Spring Concert... freaky.
Anyway, the intimacy is still there in some form, it's just... different. Evolved. We're both kind of the same, but still different. Evolved. There's an undertone of something that's changed, but somehow all the old stuff is still there too. It's almost a feeling of limbo. I don't really know what to think right now, or where we'll go from here. I'm still afraid of him, somewhere in the very center of my bones, an infinitessimally thin line of centrality that runs through the core of my marrow. Small, but focused, and it's the feeling that everything else is built upon.
I don't remember Monday at all.
Sunday I went to a bridal shower for afformentioned cousin's fiancee, then to a visitation for my great aunt. My paternal grandmother is now the last sibling standing.
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