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I am not a morning person. I am an afternoon/evening person. I hate talking on the bus, because car rides have always made me tired, because driving was always such a prominent part of my life as a child. It was soothing. But at the same time, I grew into this paranoia that some other car was going to hit ours and kill me or my family. And I don’t want to die talking about how awful my day was, or having any juvenile conversations on the bus with juvenile people, most of whom I’ll forget in about in two years. I’d prefer to die listening to music, or with someone I love, or by myself. That’s all probably why I’m a bad driver. I’m such a hopeless romantic sometimes.
I’m actually not as terrible at driving as I say I am, but I am a teenager, and my mother gets aggravated at teen drivers, and I hate it when teenagers say they’re good drivers, because they don’t have the experience that more mature drivers have. Madame Chassagne says, “I’ve been learning to drive my whole life.” This is true for me, from the back seat. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve saved my mom from many an accident by telling her about a vehicle whose blind spot we were in that was moving in on our lane. But learning to drive my whole life doesn’t mean I’m a good driver. I have lots of anxiety when I’m driving.
The more I go to school and the closer I come to graduating, the less I want to be there. I always think that my aversion can’t get any more intense, and then another day comes along, and I’m dying. I want to get out in the world, and meet new people, but I’m afraid of people. And I look forward to moving, but for the fact that I know there are some people I could never find a replacement for, and I know that these people could easily find a replacement for me.
I’m so sick of white lies and expected compliments and just the predictability of almost everyone in my life. There are only about four people who I don’t get sick of. I hate people taking me too seriously, I hate people not taking me for the young adult that I am, I hate the wrong people trying to comfort me, I hate my classes, all of them. I see people who I could be friends with, and then when it comes down to it, there are some individuals who bar my way from getting to them. I look forward to ten spread-out minutes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and the possibility of two minutes at lunch or unexpected run-ins on Wednesdays and Fridays. I hate the walk from 4th to 5th especially because it’s lonely, slow, and awkward. I hate the walk to 6th. I hate the walk from 6th to the bus ramp. I hate students who are stuck in the 90s, as rude as that sounds, because really…80s flashbacks are okay, 70s and earlier are amazing, but the 90s were the most disgusting, cultureless times of our lives, with an abundance of mom pants, fanny packs, socks above the ankle, fuzzballs for hair (I always had sleek hair, tyvm), boy bands…I could go on, but I will not. I sometimes feel like giving people culture makeovers.
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