DA DADADAAAAA (elaborate fanfare). Welcome me, World! Your blemish, your pessimist, your imperfection, standing five foot eight and weighing a good 35 pounds more than Lindsay Lohan, bless her heart. I am awake! I got my Chucks, I got my music, I got my sweatshirt, and I definatley got my guten morgen cup of Wawa coffee. Everything I need for tenth grade, save of course a boyfriend, a smile, and that whole "genuine kindness" thing. But so be it. I won't flatter myself to think I actually make a difference here.
I walk into weekly hell and think that maybe, just maybe, my parents have a point about my thinking in extremes. I see two types of people in my school: Us and Them (Us being my four good friends who are as socially rejected as I am. Them being anyone or anything else). I try to churn the painful shrieks of my peers into a comferting hum that sifts out the stupidity and keeps my head from exploding.
The hyperoverachieverpopoular kids are at the other half of the room, giggling like Japanese anime schoolgirls, a sound I cannot abide. I shoot them a look which none of them see.
I guess that's what I am, O Universe. I'm a Look Shooter. I have no purpose but to be the invisible thing that no one keeds or notices. The one who, when she is noticed, only gets the squeals of "EEEmO!" in the hallway, even though she knows that cliques were invented by a drooling simpleton with too much free time. But once again, so be it. Once something better is planned, I'll know what to do.
At the moment I'm still planning.
This could take a while.