late sunday nights and ennui

I sit here thinking about how I should have been already sleeping 2 hours ago because (1) there is school tomorrow, (2) I am doing absolutely nothing, and (3) there is school tomorrow. I think it is sincerely depressing to think that a 17-year-old guy has nothing else to deem interesting in his life than school. It’s not that I enjoy school, which I actually hate, but it is interesting to me more so the fact that I like to observe people.

It all starts when I grudgingly hobble out of my mom’s ’01 accord onto the street in front of my school while being rudely awoken from my still-half slumber by the people in the blaring SUVs behind us, who make it clear to the whole city that they harbour no patience whatsoever with their incessant honking. It literally takes me 4 seconds to open the car door and rush onto the side walk, but the barrage of parents and hormone-hyped teenagers in their cars behind us seems to insinuate to me that those 4 seconds of their lives matter immensely.

Next I walk towards the school entrance, a simple chain-link fence that someone from the outside world would easily mistake for a prison gate of some sort, perhaps to the “recreational” spot of it. I never fail to glance to my left as I enter, where all the special ed students and their teachers congregate just before school officially starts so that they can be quickly relegated to another part of the school.

I mean no insult to these students, but that’s what seems to occur every morning–they all attend school and leave school just before the rest of the population does–and no one ever sees any of them in the time between that. We are all about inclusion in this school, definitely.

I find it amusing that even though I have been at this school for four years, I still feel an uneasiness and discomfort as I enter. I can sense everyone’s eyes turning towards my appearance even though they probably are not, and I make an effort to keep my eyes glued to my feet as I walk in a hurried pace to my locker.

Beside my locker I always see the same guy, with his backpack swung in front of him as he puts his textbooks that he probably didn’t use the night before into his locker. I “know” who he is, but like the rest of them, I really don’t bother to get to know anyone else besides my little circle of friends.

“Just 3 more months,” I keep reminding myself, but I quickly try to dispel that mindset because I can’t afford to keep thinking like that throughout the whole day. I’ll simply go insane, if I haven’t already.

I slam my locker shut and walk back towards the uncomfortable eyes and look at the tables marking all the different posses and cliques. There are the asians, then the not-quite-as-popular kids sitting at the table next to the, what I suppose, are the “popular kids.” They really aren’t, but for the stereotype name’s sake, they fit the description appropriately–football players, cheerleader airheads, pretentious ASB members–you get the idea. I flip them all off…in my head, of course.

I scurry past the teachers, especially the ones that know me, because apparently my decent grades and respectable behaviour has made me something of a conversational topic among the teachers. I couldn’t help but to laugh when people started to tell me this, but then I realized that they were serious so I stopped laughing and then made a puzzled-yet-concerned look.

Finally…I made it to the science wing without losing all my calm composure and beguiling demeanor.

Wow…I am really sarcastic today. I think this sarcastic thought with a sarcastic tone in my head. I must be meaning what I say then, I think.

No. Probably not.

Alas, my morning trek to first period has led me to the science wing. Then, I see this odd couple that stands directly in my path and clearly wants to make a scene. I know they try to get my attention, I am positive they do. They think that they have something to “prove” to me, but I just disregard all of their awkwardness and glance in utter apathy to the right or the left or whichever direction that does not lead to their line of sight.

They’re weird…I think that that is all I can really say about them. First, there’s the tall boyfriend whose waist size is directly proportional to his height. He stands awkwardly with his overly-gelled hair next to the girlfriend, a petite Filipina girl with hair like black steel wool and who stands half his size.

I walk past them hurriedly and enter my Chemistry class, thinking about how I really need to find a hobby ||

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