An Open Letter to My Ability to Make Awkward and Incoherent Conversation With My Teachers

Dear Ability to Make Awkward and Incoherent Conversation With My Teachers,

Normally, I have very little to be unhappy with myself about. I'm pretty confident in my abilities, I know my disabilities, and I'm at peace with both. But you and your friend, Ability to Have Awkward Conversations with Strange New People, are beginning to make me feel a bit incompetent. You pop up exactly when you shouldn't. I wrote the beginnings of a fantasy story and went to my Creative Writing teacher to discuss it and a friend's work. When asked if I had anything I wanted to talk about, you piped up "I'm too arrogant to ask questions about my writing." Those exact words you spoke through my lips.

For the most part, you advise me to ignore my teachers altogether. Is this your pathetic attempt to avoid all those awkward juxtapositions of thought that otherwise litter teacher-student conversation? And you and Ability to Have Awkward Conversations with Strange New People are peculiarly absent in informal social situations. Do you have a friend named Ability to Make a Fool of Myself in a Fun Way to Strangers? I know her. She tells me to talk to people that, say, I meet at a party where alcohol or other substances are involved. She's a little obnoxious sometimes, but lately she's been a better friend than you have.

I like most of my teachers. So why won't you let me talk to any of them in a way that doesn't make me look like an asshole? And next time there's a conversation about school politics, please don't say things like, "I think they should bring back corporal punishment." That's totally not PC.

Sincerely,
Amira Abu-Shawish

(Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond.)

I have the best friends ever.

My friends are awesome. That's all I have the faculties to say at the moment. I love them. Best friends. Ever.

STRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESS (and on into infinity)

H'okay. So the ritual begins.

I don't try to do these things. They just happen. Yeah. I've had this assignment for several weeks. That doesn't mean I'm gonna start it when I'm supposed to. I never do. It would eliminate all the fun. I take a special pleasure in defeating the minions my English teacher sets upon me. The act of cutting through papers, generally with a poorly executed swing, just sets my heart aflutter. I can feel tons lifting off of my shoulders as the last sentence escapes from my fingertips to the screen of my computer.

Usually the stage of battle is the desk in my bedroom. I bring provisions: coffee, soda, chips, lots of paper, and a distraction or two for when my faculties are depleted. Oh. And an alarm clock. Because, undoubtedly, I will tire of all I have set before myself.

Halfway through he assignment, provided I don't fall asleep, I will begin to use the topics to amuse myself. How many words can I rhyme before it becomes obvious? How about some alliteration? Okay, that's done. Now for some observational humor that's only funny at three in the morning and only to me.

A few more hours and the paper is complete. Sleep overtakes me just as my dad is waking up. I amble through a three minute dream before he knocks on the door to remind me that ignoring an assignment I've had for several weeks doesn't exempt me from going to class. Damn.

I float through the first few periods, which last much longer than they should, until I reach English. With a supreme sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, I hand in my paper and beam a grin at whoever is unfortunate enough to be in front of me. I can feel myself floating through the air, wind lashing my face, birds squawking in my ear, the distinct rumble of jet engins. Hello passengers! I hope you're enjoying your flight.

The bell rings. I have passed out from sleep deprivation.

Waambulance.

God, I whine far more than is necessary. I even whine about whining, which is a bit of a conundrum to think of.

This spring break was in fact pretty awesome. Although I'm quite ready to get back to school, I had a lot of fun. I hung out with Marie and Geof quite a bit, started the character creation process for D&D, had several birthday celebrations, and got snippy with a weirdo.

Katy was a bit of a beast. When CJ crashed the parties (more like "was invited to crash"), there was a bit of a snag in finding places to sleep. Chance and I had been sleeping on the couch and the floor for a good long while, so we were fairly eager to take the futon. Rachel, newly christened McElvany, had only a few people she could sleep with while keeping her dignity in tact. And then Katy. Oh Katy. She was simply selfish. She could easily have solved the whole situation by just sleeping with CJ in the Art room, but she complained and complained, refusing to allow such a simple solution to be viable. She took the futon. Chance and I, who were going to share with whoever was with us, did our best to ignore the whole thing, but neither Katy, the selfish one, nor Rachel, the stubborn one, would let it go. Even with the door closed, we could hear Rachel talkin' smack. Katy freaked about it, so we all went back out into the living room to fight and try to help figure out the sleeping arrangements. When it was clear Katy wouldn't budge, I went back to the futon to sleep, because I didn't really want to deal with it.

Katy came back in, feeling very satisfied with herself. Chance had gone to sleep in the Art room with Eric. CJ was still up playing Wii bowling. But Rachel and Samia were still gabbin' about Katy's selfishness. I went out into the living room to get them to shut up (because otherwise Katy wouldn't either, which meant no sleep for me). They told me not to respond, but that never really helps. So Katy came out of the room before I could get back to bed. She stormed out of the place and went to her sister's (undoubtedly to complain). Rachel was quite happy, although she continued talking about how rude Katy was long after I went to bed.

Katy came back at 9:30 AM to find a book. She basically stormed through the house, waking everyone up before finally leaving. She was not back for the rest of the week.

I personally think they were both being pig headed. Katy is a stubborn ass and so is Rachel. They could've cooperated, but they chose to fight. I guess I'm not surprised. That's how things usually are, with Katy especially. After she left, the group didn't have a lot of problems.

We were set to see the Hudsons live on Thursday, but turns out the schedule we read was at least two weeks out of date. They had canceled their show. Instead of that, we browsed the Waterloo for some nifty tunes. Eric and Chance managed to spot Hyde from That 70s Show, which was pretty awesome. He was just walking around the record store like nothin'. We didn't bother him. Much. Ok. We followed him around until we had finished purchasing a few different CDs.

After coming back from the store, we threw a little fiesta. Barbecued sausages, beef flanks, steaks, macaroni, rolls, and other equally delicious items awaiting consumptions and transformation into our thighs. We were all stuffed after a couple small plates, though when Rite and Rhett arrived, they took out most of what was left. Like vultures. Vultures with excellent taste.

I went to Mom's Friday night. We saw Zodiac- which will keep you awake with thoughts of murderers and unsolved mysteries well into the night. The next day, Samia and Travis joined Mom, Jim, Sam, Max, Mari and I for a some chicken fajitas (Mom may drive me insane, but damn can she cook). I was made fun of for my inability to pick out good tomatoes. Samia was made fun of for her inability to remember it was St. Patrick's day. Everyone else got their jabs when playing bullshit (because apparently, few of us are good at it).

I passed out fairly early, and hopped on the train the next morning, after sitting around in the car with Mom and Jim, shootin' the shit while waiting for the transportation to pull into the station.

All in all, a delectable visit.

Mrah.

You know, everytime I'm with my mom, I get this indescribable dissatisfaction. "I can't wait for you to move down here." Yeah. I know. Me neither. But I can totally wait on living with her.

I want out of Arlington because I hate my step mother and her spawn. But I don't want to live in Austin with my mom. I have to pick one, but I don't want to do either.

It's not that I hate my mother. I love her. I just don't want to live with her. I've lived with her before, and it's such an unstable to place to be. She moves so often, and I just want to find a place and stay there. And more than that, she's left. Often. She left when I was fourteen to be with a man she had only known for maybe two months, and had only seen once or twice. She divorced him after two years of fighting and blaming and listening to him badmouth us. Now she's already living with her boyfriend of a few months. He's a nice guy. I'll give him that. But it unnerves me that she moves so fast because she always feels trapped. All I want to do is live slow and comfortable. I don't want to get caught in that. Not again.

But at the same time, if I choose not to live with her, I have to endure Sawsan and Molouk. I have to live like a stranger in my own home. At least at Mom's I feel welcome. There's always room with Mom.

I love my Dad. He lets me live at my own pace, whereas Mom makes me go faster than I'm ready for. But I can't live with him as long as Sawsan is around. And I hate that. I hate that I've been backed into this corner. She's become this barrier between me and my dad, and he doesn't really even want her there. He's told me so. So why do I have to drop out of the races?

I can't tell Mom I don't want to live with her. It would probably break her all over again. But I don't want to live with her, and I don't want to live with them.

I know I'm gonna have to talk to them both about this. That or tell some therapist all about it many years into the future. God, I love making life-altering decisions under pressure.

Awkward? Uh. . .

Ok. So people stare. It's natural right? You're sitting there, and a fresh daydream graces your thoughts. The object of your reverie may change often (or every minute, in my case). Or it may be some continuing story that monopolizes your thoughts so that the outside world becomes mere memory. And you stare. You stare long and vacantly and with no consideration as to what you're staring at. Yeah. I do it often and with great satisfaction.

But quite rarely do I notice anyone else doing it. More specifically, rarely do I notice people staring at ME. And yet it seems to be happening. Often and the same person.

There is a girl. Every time I happen to veer my eyes in her direction, she is gazing intently at me. Not behind me. Not to the boy next to me. At me. And I have no idea what to do about this. We rarely speak to each other. When we do, it's about some assignment. Did you understand Ms. Scott's lesson? Did you do your writing assignment? She once asked for help figuring out the story for her Creative Writing assignment. Like the ass-hat I am, I told her to write it herself. I couldn't help. I really couldn't.

What does that stare mean? Is she thinking of ways to torture me? Or the opposite? Is she just daydreaming and finds it easier to do so when focused on a particular person's face? Does she have something she wants to say to me? Whatever the case, it causes awkward flares in the pit of my stomach. Involuntarily, I give a small smile, but her face is blank, and I can't look her in the eye for more than a few seconds without feeling my face fire up.

I've been led to believe she has a boyfriend. Which has led me to believe she's not interested. So my only real course of action is to talk to her and ask her, in the most polite way I can think of, to not stare at me, or perhaps just why she's staring in the first place. Which is sad, because I sort of like it.

I'm Taking a Pounding Here.

Sometimes, the same life message feels the need to repeatedly enter my limited scope of the universe. Gather ye rosebuds. Quite frankly, I'm beginning to think someone up there is trying to tell me something. Although I'm not sure being reminded of something I already know and am doing my best to live up to is very helpful. It'd be annoying if I didn't enjoy the subject. It's probably a completely different message altogether.

Admittedly, it's not surprising. Senior in high school. It's the kind of thing at least one of the teachers SHOULD bash into the minds of students who would otherwise be doomed to follow some unfulfilling plan that they never made in the first place. It's in movies (for instance, Stranger Than Fiction, which I just finished watching about ten minutes ago). It's in books. Poems. The world at large.

Live your life because one day it'll be gone. And yeah. Sometimes circumstances are out of our hands. But that's no excuse to be an asshole all the time. Live to the paramount of existence, not the flat plain of dry desert that so many attempt to float above as a vapor, only to have the soaking vigor of life sucked out of the them like a sponge left in the sun. We're not all cacti.

The Carpe Diem mentality will absolutely not leave me alone.

Notes on a nerd scandal...

Things I discovered today include, but are not limited to, the fact that rolling dice for Dungeons and Dragons (and other table top games) is totally my nerd hobby, that spouting out hatred makes for uncomfortable statements (regardless of how true it is), that I should keep going with the photo manipulation stuff, and that I like Government class (although I will not be wasting time with getting a book until I can't do the homework without it, assuming I don't finish the work in class).

Geof, Marie, Justin and I have decided to start a role-playing group. Each of us (except the ever-aloof Justin) has a book for a specific game that we will be GMs (game masters) for. Geof will be doing the Vampire RPG, Marie has CyberPunk, and I will be working on Haven: City of Violence. Geof and I went to purchase dice today, and Marie already has a set.

I'm getting very into the character creation aspect of the games. Although I'm not exactly sure what a -5 means in terms of deciding abilities and all the other mathematics involved in the game, I'm enjoying the experience. I hope to become a very knowledgeable nerd when it comes to these things.

In any case, I'm counting down to the end of this week. It's so close. I can't wait for Spring Break!

Oh, sweet negativity.

I feel angry and dumb and mean. I kinda wanna scream obscenities and secrets. I kept telling my friends today that they smelled bad. Which they did, but it was rude, and I had no real reason to do so except that I had been excluded from last night's activities. It wasn't their fault or mine. It just was. But nevertheless, I kept getting irritated.

I kept thinking "I hate people today." I know exactly why, too. The time of the Red Death draws near. Monthly rituals suck.

I think I have developed a crush on a girl in my Creative Writing class. Not a real one. We don't talk or interact on a regular basis. I don't really know what kind of person she is or anything. I'm just attracted to her. I guess that's cool. It's nice to have a diversity of thought topics every so often. Meaning it's nice to think of someone other than myself, even if it's just imagining what kind of person they might be, and whether or not they would meet those expectations in real life.

Other than that, not much is happening. Next week marks the beginning of Spring Break. I'll be heading into Austin then. Everyone's going, which means oodles of fun to be had. Chance, Katy, and a load of other friends-by-association. I'll be heading in with my Madre after her weekend visit. Oh the fun to be had.