I love, I hate, I move on.

Sometimes I think life couldn't get any better than this, that everything is perfect and the world just keeps throwing better and better moments in my direction. Other times I wonder why I should even bother. What reason is there to drag my ass out of bed every morning? To even try to keep up with the rush and flow of every day living?

Every morning I'm woken up by my blind father and I take a shower. I throw on my clothes, brush my hair, try to remember to put my glasses on. Some days I eat breakfast. I get a ride from Constance an when I get to school I try not to make eye-contact with anyone. I head for Biology and wince as I realize I didn't finish the homework. I get to my table and try to make conversation, but I'm very ignored. For the next class, I am easily entertained by the teacher, but at the same time I see that Mr. Sutherland is getting more and more frustrated by the class as each day goes by, but I don't want to scream like I used to because I don't need any more people to hate me. So I just sit there and try to tell him, with my facial expressions, that I'm apologizing for my classmates.

By the end of English I'm in a better mood, and as I walk to History I hope that it will go just as well, if not better. Sometimes Mr. Fargher is in a good mood and makes lots of jokes; sometimes he isn't in such a good mood and quietly assigns us work. Either way I'm fine. But at the same time I am completely aware of those in my area and I hope, please God, if you exist, don't let anything happen, and don't let anyone say anything. Fourth period is next, Geometry. I find that if I'm hungry from not eating breakfast or I'm in a sour mood, my hand slows down and I can't seem to write fast enough. The notes seem to speed ahead of me, and I find myself abbreviating everything in an attempt to catch up.

Then lunch. Lunch is usually a very relaxed, enjoyable part of my day. For a few minutes, that is. Sure, I laugh and I grin and I make jokes and I talk about happy sunshine unicorns. But I wish I didn't. See, while I'm squealing and giggling and laughing and talking loudly and jumping up and down and moving around, I'm gaining more enemies. People look down on me, I know they do, as though I were a mentally challenged four-year-old. I hate that, because I know that if I were more comfortable around them and if they would just... let... me... talk... I'd be able to prove to them that I actually do have something to say that may or may not be interesting but that doesn't matter because I could be discussing something very 'adult' and I could show them that I can have an intellectual conversation.

Next is PE. Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's a nightmare. Either way it's PE and that's that. Lastly I have Writing, another class that I don't always do the homework for, and then seriously regret the next day. This class is often a nightmare as well, since I'm surrounded by people whom I'm sure wish they could be as far away from me as possible. I'm not sure if I feel the same way. I think I'd rather if they could at least pretend to be friendly, because that would make my life a whole lot easier.

And throughout the entire day I'm worrying about my appearance and personality. I feel that I'm too fat, even though my mom is always telling me I'm not (she's supposed to say that, right?). I feel that I'm too judgmental and silly, and that because I was raised around a bunch of loud, goofy Irish folk that took me to Celtic Festivals all the time I'll be a social outcast for the rest of my life.

At the end of the school day I go home and greet my mom, who has a serious of health issues. I start my homework and fall asleep half way through, unfinished. The next morning the whole process starts up again with a groan and a shower. And as I leave my house early in the morning, the cold air nipping at my nose, I ask myself, "Why should I keep going? What purpose is there for me in this world?"

And then the familiar blue car pulls up and I go to school and try to have a good day for once.