The Trials and Tribulations of Mackenzie Owens

by Mackenzie Owens, against her will.

Entry Number One:

To Whoever is Reading This:

I wish you were not.

However, since the task of writing in this wretched cardboard-covered monstrosity was given to me by guidance counselors, I am fairly certain that you are. Even though you promised me you would not unless I specifically asked, I am sure you cannot watch me scribble for an half an hour without peeking in it once in awhile--just to make sure I’m not writing anything that could be ‘a danger to myself or others’ (school pamphlet, page 5).

I hope you realize that if you are, in fact, reading this, you are a nosy predator of school children who are having ‘severe problems in adapting to the school environment’ (quote, said counselor). And since you, hypocrite that you most likely are, are obviously not breaking your own lousy code and reading this, I cannot get in trouble for any derogatory statements in it.

Hah, so I have just proved that I do, in fact, have a brain. I just don’t feel like using it in front of others, as such communication problems arise when ‘normal’ teenagers try to converse with sorry excuses for sentient beings like myself. Or at least, this is what I am led to believe, for every time I do try to socialize as you, oh sugary-sap of guidance counselor, tell me to do, this is the impression I get.

A Slice of Mackenzie’s Life, for the Curious Counselor

Factoid: Mackenzie likes word plays of all kinds. This includes bad puns and alliteration, among many other things.

Mackenzie: Hi.

Random Teen: Uh-huh. (fashionably bored)

Mackenzie: So...how’s life going?

Random Teen: Okay.

Mackenzie: Um. Well. Seen anything interesting lately?

Random Teen: No.

Mackenzie: Oh. Um. Well then.

Random Teen: ... (strange look at Mackenzie)

Mackenzie: Five star conversation we’re having, isn’t it? (nervous laugh)

Random Teen: Whatever.

Mackenzie: Such thrilling small talk, y’know.

Random Teen: Shove off.

Mackenzie: Er...okay.

The End

Please, my dear Ms. Goldens, do not drip that soon-to-be maple syrup into my eyes. Do not tell me to become more aggressive or persistent in my quest for peer acceptance. To tell you the truth, I am probably better off without both the eye surgery you are about  to make me get for gluing my eyelids together with that stuff, and the unpleasant company of my fellow ninth-graders. It is, after all, easier to get to class on time without the constant distractions of chatter or (in some cases) spit-swapping. Both of these should be olympic sports.

There are only three people I would truthfully like to get to know better, and they are all very intelligent and loud and probably would leave me behind in the wake of their brilliance, and so I am timid when confronted with the possibility of approaching them. Plus our lovely little sessions are during my lunch period, which is really the only time one can mingle with people of their own age. I really don’t know why I’m here every other day. Wouldn’t one journal entry a week be enough?

Ack. It seems our oh-so-therapeutic half hour is up. I certainly wrote quite a bit today. I must have written fast. Please do not look forward to seeing this much text too soon. My hand cramps easily.

From your average teenage angst girl,

Mackenzie Owens

P.S.  I am ambidextrous.