rant2

I had gone to school that day ready to take on anything. I wasn't overly excited...in fact, I wasn't anymore solemn than usual. I just wasn't overly depressed. I had hidden spunk in me I guess.
My day started off usually. I came into school, took down my headphones, and began the short journey to my locker. I'd then do the usual activities of my routine morning. At last, the morning bell rang, sending me into a none-too-quick rush to grab my books and run to class.
Once I eventually did begin to do so, however, a small, yet painfully significant event occured. Picture this: I'm walking down the hall, humming a little diddy in my head, books in hand. I wasn't twenty feet from my first class when out of the blue some guy body slams me, despite my futile attempts to evade the painful motion. I was somehow reminded of the WWF. After recovering from that little escapade, I finally made it to class.
...And what happens the minute I walk in? A boy in my class (who not only believes I'm deeper friends with him than I'd wish to be, but also highly resembles a teddy bear...with the brains to match) exuberantly chants "Marissa?!" An impatient "WHAT?!" and I tell him of my day-already-gone-wrong to hopefully evade the later attacks of idiotic happiness I know I'm going to receive throughout the next hour and a half.
Fat chance that was going to happen. My class trudged down to the media center after hearing the daily morning announcements ("HEY TROJANS! GET READY FOR OUR ANNUAL TWIN DAY! BE SURE TO DRESS UP IDENTIC-- (Can we say that word? It's so big...JUST SAY IT!) IDENTICALLY TO YOUR BEST FRIEND! Please make sure not to break school dress code or do anything fun, though! Go Trojans! (Big Brother is watching. Don't think. Buy Nike.) And for today's lunch we'll have your choice of grilled cheese on bun with a side of stale raisins or juice-in-a-cup, processed meat pita bar (with possible chance of peanut product inside), or deep-fried pizza with complimentary grease-dabbing napkin.") with the gloomy thoughts of nintey minutes of "research time". Lacking the needed spite to sit myself elswhere, I sat across from Mr. Gigglesworth and groaned as I opened my jam-packed folder to begin my organization.
Lucky me, it just happened to be "Dog Gone Good Book Week", a time when the entire school coos over the staff member's dogs and supposedly goes into a reading frenzy for trivial little trinkets of some sort. (If you weren't reading all the time in the first place, I'm guessing you're really not into it for the educational value.) Now, Idiot Boy just couldn't let the dog in there (that poor, poor dog) be. My guess was (you know, by just noticing that it had arthritis and wanted to lie down) that it didn't really want to appease him. Maybe that was just me. Anyway, I told him to stop his incessant beckoning because I, unlike most of the people in that oversized barn, was trying to get some work done.
Blah blah blah blah blah. I did. By this time, I had realized that Pam wasn't there. Nevermind the fact that a visiting girl from Pam's own class didn't know if she was there and my teacher had lied in affirming Pam's presence. This meant one more Friday night I was spending alone, unless of course that irritating little optimistic twinge of hope in the back of my mind was right in thinking Pam had just convinced her mom into giving her a day of hookey. Sure...
The next hour and a half was spent in orchestra. There's really nothing to bitch about from that short era, and since this is mainly a route of venting, I will exclude it.
Next came close to two hours of music appreciation! Yeah, I thought, "Hey! I live for music! Breathe music! Music flows through my veins! This will be swell!" or something like that. That'd be true if I hadn't been so carefully placed with the ruler of all idiots for a teacher. (Now, that may sound a bit biased, but I refuse to change my mind until two things happen. 1) It is told to me why his pants go up almost half a foot when he sits down, and 2) Someone explains why knowing George Gershwin's favorite lyricist is so much more important than the ability to accurately and fluently recite the difference in style between Gershwin, Copland, and Bernstein ALONG WITH their famous works.)
Luckily, I only have him for half an hour before my lunch period. Lunch consists of two classes of people in my grade total, with three of those people at a level my patience can withstand. Usually I attempt to read a book or just plop myself down and watch the oddities of ping pong. Every once in a while I'll get to talk to Mischa, a fantastic violinist from my orchestra who is surprisingly sarcastic. Other than that, I just humor the other two and drink chocolate milk. Round up the boys, we're raising a barn tonight.
The rest of music consisted of learning that I just lost my 100 in that class, taking more pointless notes that once again will do little good on the next quiz, and waiting for those damn two-in-one Compaq piece-of-shit computers in the outside lab to load a fairly sparse webpage. Beethoven would have been proud.
I next had science. Five weeks ago was the mark of our last trimester grading period. Almost every year for eight years now, my teacher has taken his classes out to a nearby creek every Thursday/Friday (depending on when you have him) of the last trimester. For some reason, Mother Nature seems to despise all eighth period science classes. In five weeks, I've gone to the creek once. Anyway, my point is, instead of going outside and enjoing the once beautiful weather, we were stuck inside breathing forced air, watching slide shows of the classes that got to go the day before, and making graphs of the creek bed. A foot-stamping, spoon-clapping good time.
Finally, the last bell of the day rang. I now only had to grab my stuff, snap on my headphones, and march myself out to two days of freedom. Spending the night alone wouldn't be so bad. I'm used to it...being all anti-social and so on. Right. I get outside, only to see that my bus hasn't arrived. No big deal. I'd just sit on a little parking-curby-thing from long ago and wait. I had my CD player, and ironically it wasn't raining now. Dum dee dum. Yeah, I'd keep on waiting. ...Just a little bit longer. ...Won't be long now! Well, anyway, close to fifteen minutes passed and I was still waiting. All the other buses had left. I was now tired and angry. I wanted to go home and become a temporary hermit. Finally, my bus came. Slowly getting on and finding the last seat possible, I made my way home.
Like most days after school, I rid myself of my scholary possessions and sat myself down for a few hours of roaming the Internet. Bleh. At the time I completely overlooked the hypocracy in anti-socialism and being online, but it didn't really matter. I was only on for a few minutes. While there, though, I ran into buddies from school. Pam received an "mm", though she refused to reply back. Lauren received many "mm"s and still wasn't appeased. Kelly was her usual teenager-counselor self and offered her ear to me whenever I so chose. Boring. That seemed like a good time to go upstairs and do homework.
Yeeeeeehaw! Watch out world, here comes Marissa. I'm one big party animal, oh yeah. I mean, who doesn't enjoy factoring polynomials on their Friday evenings? I soon gave that up, however. My mentality wasn't quite at the level of math, so I set my sights on cleaning my room.
And clean I did! I'm now the proud owner of a viewable floor and semi-organized desk. Maybe tomorrow could be spent reorganizing my closet. Well, only doing a half-assed job, that exhilerating activity soon lost its luster. Denying my parents the company of my personality at dinner, I decided to go for a walk. Well, all that lovely weather that I had noticed coming home I guess was used up when I was inside. It started to rain thoroughly half way throug my walk. Nevermind that, though! I didn't care.
For two days now (ever since my ex-boyfriend told me that, and I quote, "But I am in the same damned boat (the boat of boredom, unhappiness, and despair) with you...", I had been trying to find a missing link, My musically accompanied walk seemed to be the perfect time to find it.
I walked down to that very creek I was supposed to see earlier that day. A third of the time listening to my music, a third of the time listening to the water, and a third of the time listening to my own voice screaming in my head, I tried to grasp that feeling I knew I had had before. I was so close! I could feel it creep up on me, poke me in the small of my back, and run away whilst I sighed knowing I had missed it again. I didn't know what the feeling was. It was a feeling I knew I had felt long ago, but not necessarily with any certain activity. Perhaps it was an all-around feeling. It was a happy feeling.
After about a half an hour of staring at a mallard, I got tired of wiping the falling droplets of water off my face. I figured it was about time to go home. All the way back I tried once again to grasp my lost emotion.
And so I arrived home, soaking, disoriented, and dillusioned. Pounding the code on the garage door opener, I ducked under the door and walked into my home. Kindly letting the dog out of her kennel, I popped in the same CD and fired up the Internet, hoping for a response to my hopelessness or the presence of some coveted friend, but to no avail. At that time my computer decided to pluck at my nervers a little more and begin randomly inserting brackets into my text. I didn't have patience for the Internet and a probable virus. That's when I decided to go into Word, fight the blasted brackets, and record my day. And like I've thought to myself many times bfore, words can never fully give credit to the rolling thought in one's head.

Rant II