In the wink of a young girl's bloodshot eye

Tina (our sista from anotha motha), GiG and Lola, age 17, (when, incidentally, I learned the truth). (Did that joke land?)

‘Sup?

Something is off right now, kids. I don’t know what to write about, that’s why I’ve been away. Usually I have some sense that I’m hiding from my computer because the subject that wishes to be penned feels too emotionally daunting to take on but I at least know what it is that wants to be written. Sometimes I recognize early on that the project I want to embark on requires too much work to see it to fruition---and have it turn out with the level of quality that it deserves---so, again, I hide. (I’m not proud of those days, but they happen.)

But today, I am just not certain where my mind is. There were points back in my high school days where I wanted so badly to escape that stale, brick building and run out into the sun that I nearly cried with longing. That’s where I am now. My head half in the game, half in the sun.

I would like to take this time to thank our Heavenly Mama for making this winter the most mild and bearable I’ve ever lived through. Maybe global warming played a part, maybe this means an early end to civilization--I am thankful just the same. I knew back in October---staring down at my already dry and cracking hands---that I would not be able to endure a doozie of a winter. I felt brittle before the leaves finished dropping. The fact that we were spared the 12-degree days and the icy winds that cut through our coats and slash at our cheeks---well, I’m kissing the crocuses with gratitude about it.

But none of this is particularly interesting, is it? Ultimately, this is really just a conversation about the weather and can I really write that kind of crap and feel like I’ve done my job?

No. No, I can’t.

And yet...it seems to be all I’ve got. I’m spacey with spring fever and am staring out the window just like I did in Trigonometry class all those years ago. I got caught once playing Tetris on my graphing calculator during that class---a pretty mathematical game, if you ask me---and got it taken away. It wasn’t my graphing calculator so I ended up pleading with the teacher to give it back to its rightful owner. Later in the year, this teacher---who was really a very nice woman---insinuated that I cheated on the final because not only did I get a high B (after performing somewhat meh all year) but I also got the same exact score as my then boyfriend who sat right behind me. I would like to go on record here as saying: I DID NOT CHEAT ON THAT TEST! (Nor did he...just in case his mom happens to read this blog---or was actually the one who pushed me to start it---and is wondering.) I don’t blame the teacher for thinking I cheated (I was as surprised as any by that B) but I didn’t. I really didn’t.

I was usually okay with earning an honest F or getting out of the test/paper another way---usually in the form of skipping class but other times more creatively. I took Anthropology my senior year and the teacher, a good guy, was a bit of a talker. On days that we were supposed to have exams I would start asking questions at the beginning of class---prompting his long explanations--- until enough time had passed that he couldn’t possibly administer the test. I want to say that I’m not proud of this, but I am. If someday little Lola Jr. comes home and tells me she did the same thing, I think I’ll give her a cupcake.

I’m doing the same thing right now. Filling the time so that you’ll get to the end of this entry thinking we accomplished something here. I might as well write: I am very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very unsure about what to write.

All of this glory days talk probably makes me seem like a worse kid than I was. I hate to paint myself as a leather jacket-wearing teen with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth when that wasn’t the case. Though, I did wear a black leather jacket (see above) and I did smoke cigarettes. And I drank and smoked pot (as did everyone). But I did a million and one extracurricular activities---student council, school newspaper, drama club---so I was definitely part do-gooder. I was the homecoming queen for fuck's sake.

So although I did sometimes fail tests and the occasional class---gym, for one---I was a pretty solid student until about 11th grade. If you were to look at my report cards from that time you would see the gradual eroding of my GPA. And, yes, budding young psych students, your inference that perhaps outside circumstances were affecting my school performance would be spot on. And though I don’t wish to be cryptic, it’s a long story. I can tell you that this is when I experienced my first real bout of depression (the pot didn’t help though I rejected the theory at the time) and it’s also when I went to my first therapist. ‘Notha story, ‘notha day.

Mostly I was just all over the place. A’s and B’s when I wanted ‘em. C’s when I was phoning it in. D’s and F’s when I chose not to study or turn in papers. I just looked at one of my old report cards and the comments from my 11th grade English teacher went from “Shows sincere effort” to “Inconsistent in class work” to---and this quarter he offered two comments--- “Projects not completed” and “Excels in writing skills.” I got a D that quarter because I didn’t turn in a research paper. The kindness in the combination of the guy’s last two comments kills me. It’s like he would have written “She’s not a complete schmuck per se” were he not confined to the standard comments the computerized grading system offered.

There was also a lot of “Does not work to potential” scattered about. Were I being graded on life, this would probably be the comment that would show up now too.

I am still not working to potential. Projects are still not completed.

But this just might be who I am for now. Or who I was then. I was being graded on my school work then, not my coping skills. Maybe I was doing okay in that regard. Maybe I am now.

If I was to give myself a report card now, the comments would be as follows:

“Behaves appropriately given the suck-ass circumstances and the student’s wackjob disposition.”

“Excels at drinking.”

“Stares out windows.”

How would you grade yourselves?

What comments would you give?


P.S. I have to give credit where credit is due. This entry was born (somewhat unconsciously; I really didn’t know I was headed down memory lane) from a project writer Alice Bradley is doing on her blog Finslippy . Her blog is so fantastic and funny that I almost didn’t want to share it here because it will show how paltry mine is in comparison. But that seems awfully shitty and plus it was a reader here, Marianne, who turned me on to it so it seems only right to pay it forward (especially since I'm borrowing her idea). Anyway, Bradley is participating in the DonorsChoose Blogger Challenge . DonorsChoose is a charity which raises money for classroom teachers and when you enter the code FINSLIPPY at checkout any donation you make up to $100 will be matched. She’s posting funny school-related stories for the next two weeks while participating in the challenge and reading her tales of woe got me in touch with mine. Normally, I wouldn’t copy someone else’s idea---I DID NOT CHEAT ON THAT TEST!---because as a general rule, writers don’t like when you copy their ideas. Apparently, this is frowned upon. But I was reading through some of the comments on Finslippy and one of her readers--- “Alexandra/Empress”--- said she wanted to copy the idea to which Alice replied, “You must!” Now, assuming Alice Bradley and Alexander/Empress are not besties, the conclusion I drew was that she’d be cool with anyone playing around with the idea. So that’s where this came from.

But because I lack discipline---”Projects not completed” remember?---and am still waaaay all over the place, I am not sure I will continue writing about all these memories of yesteryear. Still, I would love for my one day of semi-pirating another’s idea to go to good use. Donate if you can!