What is the problem with being me? Well to be frank, its all of the problems with being me, combined. So many. I mean, sure my life is not horrible or anything, but sometimes even basic things are near impossible. For example, what you are about to read is an all around accurate representation of me battle my greatest enemy; homework.
I opened my accordion folder and took out my homework for the night; a few math problems and a short paper to read and highlight. Not very much I had to do, luckily. I pulled I pencil from the side of my backpack and commenced writing the first problem. f(g(x-1))=... On second thought, I said to myself, I'll get to this later. Besides, it's only 2:45! I practically just got home!
So I swapped over to the document I was given. It was a translated version of the French constitution from their first revolution; the big one with the decapitating of heads and all. I read the first sentence, or started it because that one sentence was the size of a decent paragraph, when I started feeling sleepy. Well, this is unfortunate timing. I stared at the paper for five minutes, struggling to keep my flickering eyelids open. By the time I finished reading it, I realized I had no memory of what I was actually reading. I was thinking about staying awake and reading at the same time. In a sense the words went in one ear and out the other. No wait, that does not make sense because I read them, so they went in one eye and out the oth-? Never mind. In short, I had to read it again, and actually pay attention. I was trying once more when my brother Jack got home.
"Hey, Rach!" He hollered up the stairs.
"Sup, little man!" I called back.
He was small, freckle faced boy with big ears and hipster glasses. He is the kind of person you never forget meeting, for better or worse, you will always remember him.
I hear his beaten sneakers treading up the stairs to my room. The door jerks open with its familiar squeak that drives up a wall. "I gotta tell you about this comic I'm writing," he begins, a crooked-toothed grin plastered to his face.
"Cool, buddy! But could you come back to me on that? I've got some homework." Honestly though, I wanted him to stay. I love talking to my brother, he's always there to cheer me up when I need it. He's my bro, in both meanings of the word.
Jack pushes his frames higher up his nose. "Don't worry it's quick," he assures me. His stories are never quick; the only part of him that is quick are his feet. But before I can respond, he's already off telling it.
There he went, explaining with mind-boggling detail of one of his favorite topics; the Justice League of America. Every part, every piece of his story he could pull off the top his head, characters, scenes, lines, action sequences and fighting mechanisms, even the specific types of weapons used. I can't even remember the five digit code to get in my own garage, yet somehow we are apparently related. Anyhow, to summarize, the entire elaborate story ended with an Aquaman joke and frustrated Batman, because Aquaman is a joke and Batman hates everyone in the Justice League, so it's fitting. The reason I understand all of this, is because I like super heroes as well. Yes, it is nerdy of me, I know. I get it. Now he had me sucked in to a conversation.
"Why do they even keep Aquaman around anymore?" I asked, but slightly rhetorically. "He's never helpful. He can't even control water! Just fish! It's sad, really."
"I know!" Jack agreed. "Maybe Superman's just too much of a goody goody to get rid 'em."
I laughed. "That wouldn't surprise me."
"Oh, and check this out," he said. Jack then jumped into the Darth Sideous impression he had been perfecting over the past few days. He cleared his throat. "Bring me Luke SKYWALKER! And Hans SOLO!... Eh, got no tang. Just bring me SKYWALKER! Luke SKYYYYWALKER! HAHAHA! Sounds WONDERFUL with my raspy evil voice!" He went into a second evil laugh then broke into a coughing fit.
I applauded him. "Bravo! You impressions getting better by the day!"
It was then I suddenly realized I wasn't getting anything done. "Eh hem, Jack?" I interrupted. "I forgot, I'm supposed to be working."
"Well, why didn't you tell me that?!" he yammered at me and walked out.
I sat there puzzled by his remark. "I- I did," a answered aloud, though I had not yelled it for him to hear, he would not have listened then either.
After the little visit was over, I checked the clock. Well there goes a half n' hour. I should probably get back to work.
I finished re-reading and highlighting by this point, now I just had to write about it. Oh no. Something, a bug perhaps, zooming around and buzzing my head. I hate things I can hear but cannot see, I would make a very bad blind person. I swat and dodge it as the insect darts by me. Then it stops and lands on my chair. A fly.
For reasons unknown to even myself, I find flies the most easily to loath of all creatures in existence. Maybe it's the germs they carry or how annoying they are or maybe both, but all I know is that no fly leaves my house alive.
I put my paper down slowly, inching towards the swatter conveniently located behind my desk. I pick it up gingerly, my eyes still locked on the fly. Every ounce of my energy was suddenly focused on that one thing. The fly took a landing on my wall.
I leaned in close, but not too close. Flies have 360 degree slow motion vision, if they think (well technically know) I am a predator, they will fly away. Raising my left arm, I swung. "Smile, you son of a-!" I missed. "Ugh!That would have been so cool! Doing that to the Jaws line!"
It landed some seconds later. I chose another reference. "For Narnia!" I missed again. "Dang it!"
And again. "Hasta lavista, baby." Another miss. "Oh, come on!"
And again. "I'm gonna do it for Johnny! Doin' it for Johnny!" Swing and miss. "No! Bad! Stop that!"
All the attempts were failing ones, but now I was positive I would be victorious. "I know what you're thinking, did I swat five times or six. But I gotta ask you, do you feel lucky? Well, do ya', punk?" And this time I was just about to kill it, my arm was in perfect position for the blow, this fly could not escape me now. However I did not swat the fly because it landed on my pillow case, and I could never bring myself to even tempt the fate of fly guts upon my pillow. My pillow is place I rest my head, even if cleaned would still let me question that my pillow was not cleaned right and fly tissue is that directly close to my face. I cannot physically allow it. I cannot, and I have no answer as to why. So with a growl of sheer frustration, I reluctantly lowered my swatter. "I hate you," rolls off my tongue the way it does when Yosemite Sam says it to Bugs Bunny. This is what my life has come to. I've been beaten by a fly.
Soon enough the fly and I made a mutual pact, leaving each other alone for the rest if the night, and I got back to work. Where I last left off only the first sentence was written, the rest of it actually required thinking too. I thought long and hard about what to write, some ideas breezed through my mind, but I did mot care much for them and they were dismissed. One thoughtless to another and another and another until my work was completely forgotten.
I have so many split ends, god do I need a haircut! Just look at all of these, look at them all. Yuck.
What day is it today? Tuesday? I have a test Friday, and it's bio.
How did I even stay in honors for math all three years of middle school? Especially in sixth grade. It should have been absolutely impossible for that to have happened, but yet here I am.
I can't believe I'm in high school now. That means in four years I'll be in college... OH MY GOD. THAT IS NOT OKAY. NOT OKAY. NOPE. NUH-UH.
In the end, what is going to become of me? What will I actually do with my life? What is the purpose of life? Why do we have it? What is its purpose in the universe? And why do I ask so many unanswerable questions WHEN I'M SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME TODAY?!
I made a deep, long sigh and glanced at the clock; 4:57. You've got to be kidding me.
"Why is this taking me so long! It shouldn't take me so long! It's not that hard! Why!? I do not understand! Well I have ADD so that probably doesn't help but, still! Still! Am I even gonna have this finished by tomorrow? What if I don't!? It's too early in the school year to not have my homework! I'm not gonna have enough time! And yelling at myself now is only wasting it! Ugh! I gonna start pacing my room! But I'm still wasting time! Then shut up! But I can't shut up 'cause I'm freaking out here! Oh, the viscous cycle! Oh, the humanity! THE HUMANITY!!"
"Rachel, who are you talking to!?" my mother yelled across the hall. I had not noticed when she got home.
"...Myself." I also had not noticed how loud I must had been.
"Well maybe could you do not as loudly? I thought you were being murdered or something!"
"...Sorry." I loud whispered.
Talking to myself was a subconscious habit. I rarely take notice when it happens, this was one of those not as rare times, unfortunately.
It was now 5:30, and I was on the verge of raising the white flag. I was so fed up with myself, I almost did not want to try anymore. I made my way downstairs, dragging a small hand stitched blanket with me. Heh, no wonder why my parents call me Linus from the Peanut Gang. I sulked to the living room, my tired eyes half-closed when I saw my dad. He was still in his suit, must have just gotten home from work. "Daaaad!" I not-so cheerfully greeted, lacking the general presence of happiness or even flat out content. The poor man just wants to get home and have nothing to worry about, that never works out though. "I can't focus for the life of me. Barely any of it is done and I just can't concentrate. I don't know what to do."
He twisted his mouth as he thought, then he asked me; "What classes do you have homework in?"
"Math is G block at the end of the day after that twenty minute free work period, and History is F block so I have it only on even days."
"And what day was today?"
"Day 2," I told him.
My father grinned. "Then you do your history tomorrow because it's not due 'till Thursday, and save the math to do in that weird work period you have."
I stared at him blankly in amazement. The answer was so simple, so clear, it had staring me in the face this whole time. I wasted all this time on ultimately nothing. "Oh, yeah," I said wanting smack myself out of my own idiocy. "I feel so stupid, Dad."
"You're not stupid, honey," he said, a sweet honest smile on his face, "you're just Rachel."
No comments:
Post a Comment