My Family

ImageWhat’s to tell today? It’s just a lazy Friday morning in IT class. I’ve finished my final project and now it’s just free time for the rest of the classes. So why not tell you a bit more about me? Here’s an important part that I’ve let out, my family.

I’m one of two middle children in a family of four kids. I have two older brothers and a little sister. Then I have a mom and a dad, who divorced a few years ago. I see my dad a few times a month, but it’s mostly just my mom in the house. Mom also has a boyfriend. Is he my family? Sure, why not.

My sister is Alexandra. She’s stubborn, dramatic, and loud. She’s also lazy, and she gets angry easily. Not many girls can say this without a sour look on their face, but I love my little sister. I read her my stories and spend hours watching Supernatural. When we walk home together she holds my arm and tells me everything about her day.

My brothers name is Quincy. He’s almost eighteen and one of those people who likes things to be organized. When he was in primary school his teacher paid him to clean the classroom. Today you can find him fixing the fence or trying to convince me to watch Firefly. He’s also working on a metal art business

I’ll tell you about the rest of the bunch later, for now have an amazing weekend, and if you have exams next week like I do, good luck.

 

Surfing the Web, Otherwise Known as Procrastination

Let me give you an idea of what the weather is like outside. Hailing. Hailing so loud and so hard that I can barely hear myself think. I kid you not, these ice balls of death are the size of marbles. Luckily Alexandra (my sister) and I arrived home before the storm hit. Wait? Did it stop? It sounds like it. People are emerging from the shelter of stranger’s houses and walking on their disgruntled way. 

I’m sorry I haven’t been able to post in a few days. Exams are upon me and I have to study. Or, I was trying to study. Out of my five classes for this term we are either at an extreme low level of work because all we’re doing is review, or the opposite, working our asses off to finish off whatever we have to before exams. Or, even worse, actually doing an exam. I woke up more tired than I usually am because I couldn’t fall asleep (I’ll explain later). I trudged to school in my new haircut (quite nice if I may say so myself). Then after half an hour of my friends gasping at my new bob, I started my first class, English. The English exam runs from Monday until Friday for a total of five hours. That’s five hours too many if you ask me, especially at the very end of the year when I’m ready to quit everything. The topic of the exam is entertainment, and how media desensitizes us. 

A few hours later I did my last Geography test, which I was barely awake through. But before we started scribbling wildly at our bubble sheet Mrs. Zix explained what we’d be doing for the next three days, a project worth ten percent of our grade. Yippee.

And now I’m home, ready to pass out. I can remember about ten thousand things I should be doing right now, but first I need to tell you about yesterday.

The started off with me making my mom coffee, because she said that she would cut my hair when she woke up. So she got up and a few hours later she took a good five inches off my previous do. I haven’t had it this short since when I was learning how to print. Dang, I looked fine.

Next I read the book Anne (my friend) lent me. It’s the Darkest Powers Trilogy by Kelly Armstrong. It’s quite good, but it gives me strange dreams if I read it before bed. Later I went on the computer, completely ignoring the fact that I had a test to study for. I checked my e-mail, because my friend Cindy still has my book from half a year ago and I want it back. She didn’t reply but I did find something else. It was a message from Stumble Upon. I signed up for it years ago. My password dated as far back as I could remember. So I started stumbling through the web, finding the most interesting things. Like a website where there was a play list for every situation and a site that made hipster text posts easy

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 But I also found a website full of the freakiest urban legends that drifted around the internet. This I will not link to, because it was scarring. One depicted the story of a Sponge Bob episode where Squidward committed suicide. Then I tried to go to sleep. Then I tried harder. And then I gave up and went downstairs for some tea. Then I read a book about vegetable gardens, went back upstairs, and still couldn’t sleep. When I woke up I felt my soul was crying for the bed like a lost lover. 

Well at least I’ll learn never to do that again. That’s the good thing about mistakes, you seldom repeat them after you’ve tasted the consequences. For instance. I’ve lost half of my study notes for Geography because I’m so disorganized. I’ll make sure to keep them all in the same place next year, but in the meantime, I’d better go find them. 

Do You Think This Is Infected?

As far as I know, every teenager of this generation knows someone who cuts. In fact, self harm is so common that it doesn’t come as a surprise to me when I see someone’s arms slashed with fresh slices. It’s cruel reality, to live in a place where physical pain distracts you from the real pain inside you. But how would I know? I’m fortunate enough to have never done it myself.

I have a friend who was once very close to me, let’s call her Flora. Actually, I still like to believe that we’re quite close. But let’s be real, the only time I see her is in class. But it’s come to our attention that we don’t spend enough time together. So my happy go lucky friend, let’s call her Anne, convinced her to come with us to enviro club. Flora was the DJ and she controlled our science teacher’s computer. Then when we were dancing like idiots and the two boys in the club were occupied, she started scratching her arm. She asked us if we knew how to tell if something was infected. When she rolled up her sleeve we saw her wrist, scarred and an angry red, a fresh cut, much deeper than the others, still wide open from the previous morning. Get it checked out, we told her. She rolled her sleeve back down and was quiet for the rest of lunch.

She’s beautiful and talented and has the worst self esteem ever. In her eyes all she sees of herself is fat, ugly, and stupid. Flora’s life definitely isn’t perfect. It’s like life gave the girl lemons but took the liberty of squeezing the juice in her eyes first. And maybe there isn’t a quick fix for depression, but I want there to be.

In the summer she’s moving away. Maybe because her mom is too stressed. Maybe it’s to get away from everything in this city that ever did her wrong. And I hope to god it will be a clear slate, where she can start over. Because when I see her again in 5 years, it would be a blessing to see her scars finally healing.