|On the Mind and Life: An Outlet
Author: Syria of the Silver Stars PM
I've always sucked at keeping diaries but I really need an outlet for all the thoughts that are rolling around in my head. If you don't want to read don't, if you do, do. I would really appreciate comments as long as they are not hurtful. Thank you.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Friendship - Chapters: 10 - Words: 7,309 - Reviews: 23 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 01-23-13 - Published: 12-03-12 - id: 3079665
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Day in the Life of Me
I regret to inform you that this is not a finished work. I originally started it over a month ago and have worked on it often but somehow I just can't seem to finish it... anyway I thought I'd post what I have and worry about finishing it later.
5:20 am: The alarm rings. Blearily, I remove my sleeping mask, turn on the bedside light, and search with groping fingers for my glasses. Once I find them I reset my alarm for 5:40. I like to wake myself up gradually.
6:00 am: I force myself out of the bed. I know that if I wait another 10 minutes I'll be late. I carefully step over the many clothes, books, and notebooks that litter my bedroom floor on the way to the bathroom to put in my contacts.
6:15 am: Clothed, contacts in, teeth and hair brushed I hastily make my bed, grab my backpack, Color Guard bag, book, and head downstairs. Passing trash bags and garbage along the way I head for the kitchen – a swarming mess of dishes that I haven't had time to clean. They're piled on all the counters and clog the sink. Dirty, moldy, dishes support rotting food that I haven't had time to clean either. Used to the sight of them I open the fridge and search through the rotten food, which includes leftovers from Thanksgiving, for something edible to put into my lunch.
6:30 am: My lunch made, I wait in the car with my mom for Payton. What could be taking her so long? Mom honks the horn impatiently and I doze in my chair, hoping for a few extra moments of rest.
6:40 am: Payton finally comes out. It's about time, I'm going to be late.
6:55 am: We arrive at my school. I hastily tell mom and Payton good bye, ignore Payton's yell of "make good choices!" (from Freaky Friday), and speed off for the band room to grab my flag bag and run to the football field. Inside the storage closet I climb over a mountain of junk, strategically placed by band kids to cover only the Color Guard's cubby, deposit my backpack in the cubby, and grab my flag bag. It's the only one left. Everyone else is already here.
7:00 am: I just make it. I say hi to Lindsay, Lisa (a freshman on the guard who spends her time with me and Lindsay), and the rest of the guard before Jessie (our Captain) calls us to attention. We stretch, run a lap, doing 30 pushups and sit-ups, and Lorraine (our Instructor) arrives with a Starbucks coffee in hand. She takes stock of whose here and tells what Mr. Judd (the band instructor) plans to run through today. We grab the correct equipment and warm up, taking the time as an excuse to socialize.
8:00 am: Finally, first period is over and Mr. Judd has called band inside for second. It's been a grueling morning of run throughs where Judd seems to have the mistaken idea that Color Guard can reset a rifle, two flags, one swing flag, and a sabre in all different areas of the field and run back to our starting spots in under a minute and still have enough breath to run through a 8 minute show. We convince Lorraine to give us a water break before we continue, another excuse for socializing.
8:30 am: Practice is over. We trudge back through the school to the bathrooms where we change into our school clothes and talk about whatever strikes our fancy. I finish early and return to the storage closet where I replace my flag bag and again climb the pile of junk to the cubby where I swap my backpack for my Color Guard bag which contains my practice clothes.
9:00 am: The bell rings for third period. I say goodbye to Lindsay and the rest of the team, who have brunch, and head off for Chemistry, my only non-Honors or AP class and my easiest. I say hello to the teacher, Mrs. Duran, a petite, dark haired women, who I really like and who likes me as well. We take notes on a simple concept that no one else seems to understand and I do my homework while Mrs. Duran explains it, again, for the more confused students. I don't talk to anyone the entire period. Even when the girl who sits next to me struggles with a problem that I easily understand, by the time I've worked up the courage to tell her how to do it she's asked a friend and I retreat to my book, subdued and feeling very alone.
10:00 am: The bell rings, announcing the end of third. I take my time packing my things, say goodbye to Mrs. Duran, and am the last one to leave the classroom. I walk outside, head downcast and eyes fixed on the ground, clutching my book tightly. I have brunch now and make my way towards the library where I've taken to spending it in order to escape the cold. Besides, no one I know has this brunch anyway. Inside the library I walk quickly past the crowded tables to a bookshelf in the back corner where I plop down and work on my never ceasing history homework. I feel content because no one can see me and I also feel sad because this kind of behavior reminds me of an earlier and much worse time in my life. When the bell rings I try to pack my stuff quickly but I'm still the last one to leave the library.
10:15 am: I'm waiting outside my fourth period class – Honors English 10 – for my teacher. Mr. Harrison, a loud man from the east coast takes a bathroom break between every class. I hate waiting outside. Though everyone in my class is in the same grade as me, and have been in my classes for years now, I hardly talk to any of them. I can't help imaging what they think of me as I stand there. Do they think me lonely, sad perhaps? Or a stuck up brat who won't socialize with anyone? Most likely they're not thinking about me at all. I start reading my book in an effort to drown out my thoughts.
11:15 am: I happily leave English. Mr. Harrison had spent the entire class raving about his adventures as a kid and English teachers who don't actually read essays. I don't like him. He's customarily a regular ed teacher but was drafted to teach Honors due to a shortage of teachers and has no clue what he's doing. I reflect on this as I enter fifth – Honors Algebra II Trig, my most challenging class. I enter and walk to my seat, which is on the far side of the room in a row of two, secluded from almost everyone else. I got moved there after Ms. Rivas, a talented young teacher who gets along very well with the other kids in my class, rearranged seats according to who we said we wanted to sit next to. I hadn't written a single name.
12:15 pm: I decide to spend lunch in my math class and work on homework. The room starts out quiet and grows to be noisy as friends enter and converse with each other and Ms. Rivas. As the volume increases I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. I feel unworthy to be in a room filled with such easy conversation.
I have a question on a problem I've done wrong three times now but there's someone talking to Ms. Rivas and I just can't bring myself to interrupt him. I settle back down to try it a fourth time.
12:25 pm: After much trying I still can't get the answer right. Unwilling to ask the girl next to me for help I finally work up the courage to ask Ms. Rivas and hang behind the boy she is talking too until she notices me and calls me forward. I ask her, and she shows me my silly mistake. I go back to my seat and the conversation resumes behind me. I feel stupid and lonely, and somehow I just can't seem to do the next problem.