Mookie the Wonder Munkie
Haha. She was on sale in the seasonal department at Hobby Lobby. I was going to name her Randolph but that seemed kind of stereotypical of the area I live in, so Mookie it is. She's very soft (*squeeze*) and likes cinnamony things, as far as I can tell. :)
... now I'm out of ideas to complain about. Maybe I should leave it at that, with the idea of oddly-sized sweatpants fresh in your heads. Now go do something about it while I sit and reap the benefits of your hard work, as I always do. ^_^
(Ok, speaking of reaping benefits, here's another topic that's been on my mind a lot lately, and this is even more annoying than the Great Sweatpants Complication tenfold.)
... It really, really bugs me when people always assume I'm the "genius" of the group and expect me to automatically do all the work. At school we often pair up in groups in a few of my classes; the girls in my row that are usually with me obviously don't give a crap about the subject, and I'm normally (well, always) too much of a pansy to stand up for myself. And they're sly about it too, complimenting me and making me feel like I'm doing them a favor or something, as if I equal them for a few moments. That's not the case.
When I'm in a situation like this, I'm normally forced to interact with just a bunch of pretty faces. They make me so mad and are (unfortunately) the source of a lot of my problems these days. It's not jealousy, trust me... it's hard to believe I ever wanted to be like them when I was younger. I'd pull my hair out (oh, wait, that's already happened) if I ever had to live in such a shallow mindset. They just... don't "get" anything. I know that most people don't ask for popularity (or maybe they work their way up, I'm kind of uncertain about that part), but even if someone has always been well-received and never had to suffer in the lows of a school's social hierarchy, there must be some feeling of guilt upon watching some poor girl press the pencil into the paper in fits of silence. There's just no way to pretend that didn't just happen, unless everyone is so full of themselves that they can't see what's directly in front of them. Having 3 conversations with everyone but the girl doing your homework, well, I can't help you if you can't see that that's rude. (Not that I want to be an attention-[prostitute] or feel like I deserve to be the center of all conversations, but ignoring someone is sometimes - most times - worse than calling them names to their face.)
What's even worse is that there's nothing I can do about being "that" girl. I either come off as (pardon the language) a "total bitch" by "not helping out the group" (what group? I'm the only one doing anything!) or I become the equivalent of a dog doing tricks for a bone or treat (or, in this case, a "good job, uh, what's your name again?"). There simply isn't a nice way to tell someone "hey, sorry about this, but I think you're a slacker and rely on me for your grade, so I'm not going to help you anymore, good luck!"
*sigh*
"No, I don't get this at all, do you?"
These kinds of people can twist your entire social life around. They can morph everyone's opinion of you until you become the Weird Kid, the Prude, the Isolated One. You have no idea how fast word spreads with the use of cell phones and the "right" words (usually obscene pronouns work the best, I've realized). Until I can come up with a way to not look like a doormat to the rest of my graduating class, I think it's only best to lay low and just... do the work. They don't deserve any of it, but there will be a day when they understand what they have become. Karma can't sleep forever.
I've never really talked about this with anyone other than my close friends, but (as it's become increasingly evident in this post) I tend to see...barriers around people that others apparently don't see. Cliques and such. You give me a girl and I'll tell you her life story and what she thinks of herself; give me a guy and I'll tell you what he'll grow up to be and how many girlfriends he's had. It's a sad thing.
I'm waiting to be proven wrong. Maybe you are the exception? I see you. I know who you are just for what clothes you wear and what grade you get. It's a terrible, terrible curse. I end up distancing myself from the people that are "above" me in this deadly caste system (that's what it is, isn't it?), so I guess I'll never know if I've been wrong about them this entire time. I'd rather be with my own kind than be continually disappointed by yours.
It's sad. It makes me feel alone an awful lot. I don't start conversations or give compliments as much as I'd like to. I used to, quite often in fact, but something happened along the way that made me lose that. I wonder what?
This is enough. I've probably only continued to prove that I'm severely depressed, which I can assure you is definitely not true. For some reason I feel that I can write (type) here as freely as in my journal, which eventually lead to the inner workings of my mind (which aren't pretty, as you can see). But I reread my old journals a few months ago (well, I called them diaries for a long time, but either way) and I can easily see how strange I was. No "Dear Diary, Today it rained and we went to Burger King," it was mostly "Can this year get any worse?" repeated 180+ times with a different choice of words.
I think the definition of depression has lost its severity. Anyone who has a negative thought is depressed, it seems. Then, yeah, go ahead, call me depressed for being human, for being myself and being this age, for you are most certainly right. You've won the lottery, here's $10. Get me an ice cream and a bus ticket so I can leave this place with a full stomach and a cold heart.