So, suffice to say I haven’t exactly forgotten about last night and am still a little irked. Irked would be an understatement, actually. But whatever, because whether or not I actually care doesn’t matter because I’ve convinced myself I no longer give a fuck, and so that’s that. Moving on.
Unfortunately, my anger from this one thing translates into my hatred for almost everything else, or at least intensifies it. Like, spirit week for example. I didn’t dress up today, because spirit week is fucking stupid. It’s just an excuse for people to get tagged in as many pictures as possible on facebook. Plus, it’s the only time for the entire year anyone at our school shows any school spirit, at all. Next week we’ll all go back to not giving a fuck about Marshall and wanting the fuck out. My class, especially. 95% of the seniors this year checked out during the last quarter of junior year. We’re fucking re-defining senioritis. They should call it Marshall-itis because the amount Marshall sucks is varies directly with the amount that we don’t give a fuck about shit. Just wait until second semester. Jesus christ, you won’t see a goddamn senior in the hallways until IB exams roll around. Even then we’ll just show up when we need to and leave as soon as possible.
And it’s so weird, because this time last week I was really excited for decades day. Now I just can’t even bring myself to give a damn. This is where the word “hypocrisy” comes from. I’m well-versed in the ways of saying things I don’t mean, or not following up on things. It’s just one of those things.
About thirty minutes ago I was so ready to do my Spanish homework, which would be like the end of the world… me doing homework at home, or even at all. Then in walks my mom, shoots the bull to me a little about how I need to change some fucking paragraph on the common app about an extracuricular, which, by the way, is hardly a “make-or-break” aspect of the application. So I resist the urge to tell her to fuck off and I rewrite the paragraph into describing why I hate politics because I’m just so goddamn bitter. She hates it. Doesn’t say it, because she never does, but she doesn’t say anything and that’s when you know she absolutely despises something. Thinks she’s being so fucking slick, huh. Well I guess that shows her because I’m just sticking with that same fucking paragraph she thought was boring before. So if you don’t want boring, but you don’t want what I actually write, which is a scathing critique of the American political system, what the fuck DO you want? Because it sure as hell ain’t something I can give you. Sorry I don’t live up to your ridiculous expectations of a perfect daughter, sorry the way I am doesn’t really fly with you and your fucking system. I’ll be gone in a year anyway when I get into William & Mary, because I’m getting the fuck in, so you can stop telling me I need a backup plan because I have a right to be fucking confident about this. I worked so goddamn hard for my grades, and my scores, and you’re telling me it might not be enough? Fuck you. Nothing I do is ever good enough. Guess I haven’t got a whole lot to be proud about… I mean, my SAT score, my ACT score, my GPA, my National Merit Scholar Semifinalist status, my acceptance into the Page Program, my job and extracurriculars, those are all just useless, not really worth a whole lot. Because who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t.