Skin the CATS!

Get a good nights rest. Eat a nutritious breakfast. So many precautions and so many steps, for what? For wasting your time, wasting my time. And furthermore, exerting our efforts into something that virtually doesn’t matter. The schools loses money distributing it, with its students equally enthusiastic about it. So why do we take it? The makes us. Why does the school make us? The state requires it. What am I speaking of? C.A.T.S.

In years prior, the school offered an incentive for trying. A proficient and above earned students an additional exemption the following year. None was offered this year, leaving some students, including myself, unmotivated. I can honestly say, as a persistent distinguished writer or above, made no significant effort. The only effort I made was to do as I could. I wrote information totally irrelavent to the question, leaving me to score no better than a novice. I can only hope that hald the students at oru school resorted to that decision, but I wont get my hopes up.

C.A.T.S. test is a joke. Likes it. Nobody feels its impact. Get rid of it.

Prom

I enjoyed prom, everything went accordingly and there were no inconveniences. The only thing in particular which wasn’t one of the highlights was the amount of light which illuminated every corner of the Hines Center. It allowed everyone to see each other’s dancing and just made it awkward for all of us. When asked whether or not that could be rearranged, the teachers gave a thumbs down on that suggestion.

I suppose what else was so displeasing was not so much the dance itself, but putting prom together. When first coming into the position, I overestimated the power of the prom committee to which I was heading, under the impression that we designed the layout, etc. Upon discovering that was up to the art department, I began to question our impact. I came to the impression that we merely made suggestions and passed them on to the sponsors, leading to me underestimating our impact.

When my feeling of control declined, I didn’t know what I was today. Unlike in other clubs, I wasn’t provided the chance to watch and observe the roles which were to be delegated to me, so I didn’t know how to carry out things or what dates I were to tend to. So, whenever something was to be done, decisions for dates were usually made on a day before basis, where I wasn’t able to go because of work (which is scheduled two weeks in advance). I won’t lie, to some extent, I gave up on some things. The primary reason was because some decisions were made without my knowledge, so while the others knew, I was oblivious. Not to mention the amount of class participation was discouraging.

However, I appreciate the others coming through when I didn’t, and all the collaborated work put together towards a great prom. Thanks guys!

What's to Celebrate?

Well, I must inform you that I didn’t manage to be accepted into GSP, but it’s their loss, huh? On the flip side, Randy has taken a week off of his job so he rest a little. And again, on the second thought, I cant imagine life as being so peaceful when prom is progressing at a rapid rate (as in next weekend…), AP exams are just around the corner (it becomes noticeable when teachers begin cramming in 3 chapters a day) and so are report cards. I would just like it all to be over with so I can have some time to think in the summer (since I will be blessed with so much time as a result of, I repeat, not being accepted into GSP; buzz kill).




Even with these various responsibilities thrown upon my back at this crucial time, I cannot even express how relaxing it is to know that everyday after school I am free to do whatever I want. Scratch that, everyday after school I am free to study whatever I want. Though it’s not quite my forte and there are numerous other, personal things which appeal to me, it’s such a relief that I won’t have to stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning to get things finished.



And, not to say that I’m not disappointed, depressed and very upset, but I am also almost grateful that I don’t have to spend my time away from school inside a school at GSP. Don’t get me wrong, I would do nasty, illegal things to be enrolled, but it offered to time for me to enjoy my years as a teenager. What I will invest all of my time to, the Lord only knows, but I imagine I will find it put into something which will yield temporary happiness. Heck, if I’m lucky enough I might even forget about all of the scholarship money I’m losing!

GSP

Apparently, today is the prolonged day that many, including myself, have been waiting for. Yes, I am talking about the letters which were supposed to have been sent off from Frankfurt the Friday prior – the letter that informs 13 students from our school whether or not we have been accepted into the Governors Scholar Program (GSP). It would be lies if I reported not feeling anxious or not being nervous. So many things depend on this program, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that my life depends on it.

Either way, supposedly, my parents said they would be proud of me. I, on the other hand, would have a sense of defeat and feel hopeless. No doubt that for the weeks following I would most likely exhibit a loss of interest in any of my activities and I wouldn’t be working to my fullest potential. In preparation I have requested the following week off of school. Unfortunately I didn’t manage to remember to ask the week of which I received the later, where the effects would be more visible, but these troubles, I imagine, won’t pass easily.

I am a little troubled by the fact that, according to one of my friends, the guidance councilors are indeed informed of the results and refuse to release them. It really puts teenagers in a feeling of anxiety which shouldn’t be experienced at such an age. I am under the impression that kids our age should spend their time running about, exploring the world and expressing themselves, not fretting over a summer program that has a huge impact on their life.

Lack of Studnet Body's Input

As an individual in this school, I see it (individually) as a problem that another individual is giving the site base an individualistic representation of the student body. On a personal, interactive level outside of school organizations and the such, this individual and I are on good terms. However, when it comes to clubs, tensions rise and this person can really get under my skin.

In attendance of a site base meeting, I was impressed with how smooth the agenda progressed and how each topic went uninterrupted. However, when it came time for our school to entrust one student to represent the whole student body, hell broke loose (to me, individually…) I think she managed to merely scrape the surface of the true thoughts of the student body, which was then, within seconds, thwarted by her own bias opinion about the situation which was at hand. This persons particular position isn’t to provide her individual, unique thoughts on the issue, but to be the medium for the student body, for her to convey our thoughts and ideas to the site base council.

What this person reported may have correctly corresponded with the ideas and liking which conform with her group of friends and age group, but it is doubtful that she received input from the various other groups and ages. I don’t believe there was a survey or anything of the sort passed around the school to retrieve correct results to which they could present.

All my point is saying is that are student body is being mal-represented by someone who can’t quite fulfill her job.

College

It’s hard to believe college is just a little over a year around the corner. It’s all come so fast and I’m not even sure of where I want to go or what I want to major in. As excited and ready I am to leave this town and go somewhere else, I know I’ll be ready to come back within days of being there.

What is bothering me is the fact that there’s so many expenses that go into college. Since I’m interested in pursuing a career in the medical field, it’s no secret that I’m going to be a big hole once I leave school. What’s worse is that once I no longer live under my parents roof, I’ll be on my own and all of those fees are going to be my responsibility. I’m so used to feeding off my parents income for the essentials such as school supplies and food, that I won’t know what to do.

I question my determination to go through that many years of college, and I fear that I will waste a lot of time and money if I ended up not completing what I started. I’m struggling to even keep up in high school!

I hear bits and pieces of input about college from my sister through my mom, which makes it sound dreadful. Movies and stories make college sound like a party where classes are a breeze. Unfortunately, in reality, it sounds like college is a combination of stressful mornings and caffeine supplied nights stocked with roman noodles and HoHo’s; neither of which I like.

Prom

Apparently when I ran for Junior Class president I wasn’t fully aware of the irksome class I would have to put up with (or should I say not put up with?) when it came to planning prom? Prom was one of the primary reasons I wanted to take on this role in the “student government,” but it’s so hard to plan and think about with the lack of students and with all of the other various clubs and schoolwork I’ve got on my mind. Although it’s drawing closer and we’ve yet to come to a decision on many things, I feel as though we can still manage to pull off an awesome prom, considering students will begin to show up.

I am disappointed to say that I expect prom to be a very stressful evening accompanied by frenzied mobs of juniors and especially seniors who seek vengeance on me for a horrible prom. Not to be too harsh on my class, but for a good percentage of them, it will be a night they won’t remember anyways. The number of students showing up to our weekly meeting have waned, and there isn’t even enough people to even think about forming committees. Some teachers are beginning to turn to me for answers that I simply don’t have. One reason I remain clueless is merely because I’m not exactly sure how much power we have to do certain things. I don’t know what to expect when I suggest something because I’m not sure what the school will or will not allow us to do, and I refused to be embarrassed by asking a range of questions. One question I will, however ask is: Can it get any harder?

Class of 2011

*I'M POSTING EARLIER IN THE WEEK SO I HAVE MORE TIME THIS WEEKEND TO STUDY FOR A TEST THE FOLLOWING WEEK. THIS POST IS BEING POSTED ON MONDAY, MARCH 1, SO IT IS THE POST THAT'S DUE FROM MARCH 1 - MONDAY, MARCH 8 AT 8:00 A.M.

Unfortunately I was conceived in the year of 1993. I find it frustrating to cope with those who were born into this same year who have grown up (really they haven’t grown up at all) to be immature and vile. I was once proud and felt the feeling of being a part of something when our class was labeled “The H – E – double hockey sticks Raisers.” I frown upon my former mal judgments and reflect on all of the opportunities I let perish at my dimwitted actions which may cost me minor consequences in a looming future. However the spring flowers have bloomed and my senses awakened as I stir from a mischievous middle school slumber. Still, a little monkey business lingers about in my head and I sometimes still experience symptoms of a thirst for the adrenaline which I would thrive off until a week later. Sure I still retain my adrenaline junky friends I had once held tight bonds with in middle school, but I slowly am awakening to realize what idiots (lack of a better term) they are.

As I enlist into clubs/organizations, hold a position at a local restaurant which I dedicate my time to, and actually put effort into my education, I watch wondrously a good percentage of the 2011 class plunges deeper into an unfulfilled life. Of course I’m not suggesting living life as a teenager is uncalled for, as I would be being a little hypocritical, but even teenagers have responsibilities. It’s so hard to progress through high school without facing so many temptations, especially in my class. I feel pity upon those among me who participate in their classes and have to withstand the temptations and who actually have a future. In prior years, the lack of responsibility which students had was made obvious in the minimum participation in the election for class officers, where there were literally not enough people to fill in the positions.

I only wish that as I progress to college and further advance in my studies, the colleges will crop out a good percentage of those who fail to engage themselves in their studies and are solely focused on partying and having a good time. I hate to be the party pooper, but things do need to change.

Another Thought on Teachers

 Another thing I cannot stand is being treated like children, especially without the benefits of recess or naptime! Some teachers merely don’t convey the respect to students that (some of) the students deserve. Which of course, there is always the other extreme where they put too much on our shoulders that I don’t even believe adults can handle, but I find being treated like children is worse.

What really got under my skin was the occurrence that happened last week with the bomb threat. I found it irritating they didn’t even tell us anything was going on, but played it out as though nothing was going on. Then they wouldn’t even inform us what was going, but instead told us they were dealing with some “technical difficulties” inside the building. Even though everyone in the auditorium knew through the process of texting, I find it insulting teachers didn’t trust us to act as adults in the situation (which, for some of us, we can’t). However, even with the students who might get a little out of hand, I feel as though we had the right to know something when our lives are “supposedly” at stake. Even though there’s only a 0.0001% chance this threat is indeed true, I don’t feel it’s a risk to take and don’t think students should be left without knowledge of what’s going on.

Anyhow, some teachers don’t even see students as equals, and don’t talk to us as though we, the students, are human beings. All I know is I CANNOT wait to graduate, with the exception of Mrs. Gunter. She can come with me.

Chores

This week’s topic is looking at chores – everybody’s got them (almost everybody). I do feel that chores are necessity in families whose kids aren’t involved in extracurricular activities and jobs and things of the sort. This gives children a sense of responsibility and put’s some sort of weight on their shoulders. Aside from that, children should have enough respect for their parents and show appreciation by doing these small labors which we all tend to exaggerate to being so arduous. Though, I will admit I get a upset and flustered when I am asked to do something, which brings me to the point I want to make.

If children already have enough on their plate (school, clubs, job, etc.) as it is, parents should have the respect to acknowledge this fact. Don’t get me wrong – I do find my parents have fairly balanced what they do ask of me, which isn’t very much. Despite the fact that I even realize it, I still find myself upset. Aside from those random days off where I am caught up in my studies and aren’t scheduled to work, I am constantly busy. In order to do anything that’s personal and something I enjoy doing myself, I am forced to multitask while doing homework. A prime example would be right now, because I am burning approximately 200+ more CD’s from my computer, which takes a considerable amount of time (not that I’ll find time to listen to my music anyways).

I don’t mean to sound rude, but when I’ve got 1 hour to get packed, drive home, get dressed, eat and get to work, I do get a little aggravated when I am asked to take out the trash or help unload something. And if I’m running late in the morning and fail to have time to make my bed, it shouldn’t be pointed out – I had to get to school. Whereas most children would be praised for willing to stay up late to study and strive to do well in school, I usually get harped at or griped because I’m not in bed. Sure, sure…my health is mentioned and how much sleep I get it important, but why isn’t this topic brought up on weekends when I stay out late and not doing homework (this happens on a rare occasion, mind you). Another thing which was that I need sleep to do good on the test, but I’m pretty sure I won’t recall what I haven’t read.

When I’m asked to do the chores, I think it’s safe to assume that I’m not really being asked or given an option, it’s more of a demand. Perhaps if some allowance was brought into the picture things wouldn’t be so bad – at least I’d have some motive and reason (aside from loving my parents!) for doing it. I know what they ask/demand are petty things and not very often, but the time does mount up, and it interrupts my train of thought when I’m in the middle of something. If you ask anyone who knows me even the slightest bit, they could tell you how much I struggle to get on task because I’m so distracted as it is. Chores aren’t fun for anybody – especially without pay! So that’s basically my two cents on chores.

The Casualties of Having a Job

So, as most of you know, I am employed at Beef’O’Brady’s as a host (NOT a hostess), where I get paid to lounge around at the front door and act like I care about other peoples lives – woo-hoo. When I was 16 years closer to my death, I took it upon myself to venture out into the real world – because school is, after all, the fake world – in search for a job. Luckily, I attached a picture of myself to my application, hence receiving quick results. It is pretty safe to assume Beef’s hired me to make use of my attractiveness to lure in customers.

Now that you have the background information on how I got my job, let’s begin to discuss why it’s beginning to interfere with my personal life. My original intention behind wanting a job was, as you all could probably guess, have some pocket money now that I get into whatever trouble I wanted. I was under the assumption that, since my sister had received this gracious benefit, my gas would be fully paid for by my parents. When questioned, my parents explained that since I have a job, I can take care of these various expenditures. Oh, now I understand, how could I have been so oblivious to the logic? Since I took the responsibility of finding a job, there are consequences. In case you didn’t catch it, I am trying to give a hint of sarcasm.

Sure, both my car and insurance were covered by my parents, but so were my sisters. Not to mention my car cost significantly less. If I need some materials or something for school, I sometimes get the same answer. My mom and I have planned a trip to Canada for spring, under the condition that we split the costs. I find this irksome – whatever happened to a family vacation (when the kids don’t have to pay)? It seems easier to just quit, feed of my parents’ income, and devote my time to friends and various other leisurely things. Fortunate for them, though, I enjoy where I work and get along with all of my coworkers. It’s just one of those situations where it’s not so black and white, but grey, as to whether or not I should quit. Life can be hard.

In Regard of (some of) the Teachers

A huge hard-knock which prevents itself time and time again in my life it the carelessness of some of teachers and attitudes. It is becoming apparent to me that some of the teachers clearly only depict their students as mere numbers instead of actual intellectuals. This is without mentioning the site base and some of the administrators. When situations come along and things aren’t going too hunky-dory as they may want it to, the consequences are invoked on everybody. There are some teachers in particular which really get under my skin who think (but in their mind, know) that they are always right, when in reality, they are wrong.

One primary example occurred just recently: I, along with several others who accompanied me at my table, were summoned to be questioned where our scores, which were all compiled on one sheet, was at. I, being the perfect role model student that I am, had taken the dignity to take our scores up myself. I recall being the last group to finish, because I remember double checking to make sure it was placed among with the other groups’ papers. The teacher said to go check in a stack of papers another student was going through at the moment. He made a motion to put it back in one of the trays, but I nabbed it from him to swiftly glance through the papers in search of the paper. Unfortunately it wasn’t there, so I checked the stack of papers that had just been graded by the teacher that day while we watched a movie. Sure enough, there it was, amongst the other papers alike, ungraded. I returned it to her and explained where I had found it. Then she complained that I had put it in the wrong tray and it was my fault. However, that makes no sense when I had check earlier to find and make sure it was with the other papers, and she hadn’t graded it until after this took place. Not to mention there wasn’t any papers in the tray which was supposed to be the tray for already graded papers, yet my paper managed to find itself amidst the stack and not at the bottom. It’s clear to me that she had made the mistake of overlooking it while grading, which is perfectly fine. But to get mad at me and make accusations is another.

Another example pertaining to the administration not seeing each person as an individual was the issue about not receiving exam exemptions if dues weren’t paid. I had totally forgotten that I had a library fine due, which is why the librarians hand out fine slips if it’s been a long fine, because students sometimes need reminding. This year I never received a slip, and she claimed to have emailed me, but my inbox was full (which I understand it was my fault, I just NEVER use it). However, even if that was my fault for not cleaning out my inbox, every teacher that has ever tried to contact me has said that the message bounces back out of all the students to inform them my inbox was full and I didn’t receive it, but she didn’t come to find me. My parents also have always usually received a phone call informing them about fines, but not this year. Sure, they made announcements over the intercom, but I had FORGOTTEN about it, which is why they’re supposed to hand out these fines and do these different ways to contact the student. This is without mentioning that during the second semester, students with any fines can return the book now without being charged. WHAT?!? So a big deal over nothing? So after contacting the principal, his reasoning behind not letting me get the exemption was because if I got it, everyone would have to get it. This comes to show that they don’t look at issues as individual cases where a student may actually have a reason, but as a student body.

Lanyards

As of Thursday, January 28, I have successfully managed to abstain myself to succumbing to the austere decrees of Daviess County High School’s incumbency. My devious ingenuity allowed me to stealthily steer clear of the potential dangers of not having an ID which present themselves in most every corner of Daviess County High School. I deem that I should be entitled to some trophy or reward of some type to compensate for the effort I exerted into averting from these threats. I now belong to an elite group of individuals who, like I, have managed to thwart Daviess County by going a day without a lanyard.

Daviess County is staffed by a bountiful number of teachers, some kindhearted (especially that Mrs. Gunter woman) some not, who fail to identify their students without this caustic ornament. A student can be besties with their first block teacher, but had that student left the plastic barcode slip from memory that Monday morning, the teacher suddenly loses sight of who you are and where you came from. One mistake and your teacher has already taken you off his/her top 8 on Myspace. But once you return the lanyard on, they are once more able to recall who you are. It makes sense, right?

The administration claims the purpose of this futile accessory is to ensure that teachers are able to identify students in the halls and crop out those who aren’t enrolled at the school. It is also implied that lanyards are a defense mechanism against school shootings by preventing those without an ID (in other words, those not attending classes at DCHS) from getting inside the school. However, if an individual did have intentions of causing harm, and he was lugging around an AK-47 around the Math hall, do you really think a teacher is going to say, “Hey young man, where is your ID?” No. If an adult who was walking through the halls had a 9 mm. stashed in his pocket and someone asked if he obtained his visitor pass, is he going to say “Oh, how silly of me!” or is he going to busting some caps? In the reality of things, if you conjure any scenario pertaining to a situation such as this, the person with bad intentions is going to use force anyways.

It was playing out like any other Thursday; I picked up Aeriel, got to school, found out what homework I didn’t do, found out what homework I did do but didn’t need to do and made it to class, when Mr. Mason said over announcements: “Let’s have a dress code check and an ID check.” I looked down. It wasn’t there! As any other human being would, my head looked around to see who else was in the same predicament. I though, could it be? Unfortunately my wolf pack only consisted of me as a lone wolf in the pack, who had forgotten his ID. Scared I looked down at some random page in my book, acting as though I was working diligently, caught up in a deep reading pertaining to the Anglo-Saxon period. Success! The substitute failed to acknowledge my fault. If it were any other day, I would have volunteered to go buy an ID, because I’m proudly close to breaking the record for the most bought IDs. But on this particular Thursday I had no money.

It’s a shame that students have to add something so insignificant to their list of things to remember in the morning. On a personal level, it’s not easy to look as good as I do in the mornings, so I find it hard to remember things so insignificant in the scheme of things. Between lanyards and IDs, I’ve easily spent over $100, which is absolutely ridiculous. It’s petty things such as these which contribute to a hard knock life.

Time is an Hourglass Glued to the Table

"My adolescence progressed normally: enough misery to keep the death wish my usual state, an occasional high to keep me from actually taking the gas-pipe."
-Faye Moskowitz

Approximately 25.0% of my week is squandered in an atmosphere populated with persons of my age, which is in the ballpark of roughly 42 hours. 88.3% of this time is comprised of the 35 loathsome hours spent simulating an ideal student in school, none of which are used to socialize. Still, 14.3% of my uninhibited time is bestowed towards my relationship which I somehow cope. Dwindled down to 2% of my time with peers, the time I donate to my friends amount to a whopping norm of 1 hour a week. Out of the 168 hours which make up a week, I expend 0.5% of my valued time with my genuine pal’s. So why?

The grounds on which hinder my amity aren’t accounted for because I don’t have bud’s (though I’m beginning to question); I do. It doesn’t pertain to disliking them; I don’t. The bond I share with my girlfriend isn’t liable for impeding on it; it doesn’t. The answer lies beyond the ties I share between people and concern factors that should be on the top of everyone’s agenda.

My intentions aren’t wholeheartedly intended to bore you, but perhaps a few additional figures won’t do much damage. I contribute 11.31%+ more time working (if you call opening my jaws labor) than I do with my devoted friends. What’s worse is I allocate 27.0%+ of my week studying and doing homework whereas a bare minimum of 25.0% (the equivalent time spent “mingling”) is allotted to shuteye. I find this particular statistic disturbing and the reason I thrive daily off of caffeine; I bleed caffeine products. This leaves an insignificant percentile which can be classified as the ‘Leisure Percentile,’ including time to eat breakfast (Yes, Little Debbie Fudge Rounds and left over, cold pizza from last night are a pleasure) and dinner and sustain my alluring tan (laughter?).

But how do I spend 45+ hours a week busied by schoolwork? Easy. My mind has some deficiency which hampers its capability of learning. By this I am referring to its tendency to only retain certain information when I have a full understanding of (e.g. having to know why it does something to commit to memory what that certain thing does). Hence I am frequently up until 2 a.m. reading and rereading.

I query the morality of my schedule at times, yes. Sometimes I ponder whether a Commonwealth/Honors Diploma are worth the exertion, or whether or not my next to nothing income will endure the long anticipating college experiences and make an impact on my impending debt. Is the time designated to work worth wagering my high school experience and vise versa? I deem trial and error is merely the only means as to attaining the answer, where one trial is feasible. I’ll take my chances at living a hard knock life.

Chapter One: Clank, Clank

Chapter 1
Clank, Clank

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,
You could cut ties for all the lies
That you’ve been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again,
I would understand.
-Third Eye Blind

His mind alleged he was ready. His body language, however, suggested otherwise. His inflexible movements couldn’t veil his apprehension, and even as he advanced through the doors he felt as though his feet were laden by two iron weights affixed to shackles. His mind had made a psychological association between the shackles he had envisioned and the universal sound linked to them: clank clank.
How he found himself in the office of some illustrious therapist on this May afternoon he could not recall. What he could recall was the feeling of hope he had received several days prior when he was informed to address this specific councilor from multiple reliable sources. It has been a prolonged concern of his to seek guidance from a name which bore some significance in this particular field since the divorce. So it was here that he anticipated to be sublimed with confidence and buoyancy.
Behind a beautifully crafted, cherry wood desk sat a middle-aged woman, furiously jotting something into the browning, dry pages of what appeared to be an aged journal. Her appearance was all too breathtaking. Like some cherub her smooth, pastel skin glowed through the dimness of the room. Her lustrous brown hair vanished behind her head into a bun, with only a thin lock of hair left to be tucked behind her ear.
As he approached her desk (clank, clank) she made no sign to acknowledge his presence, but rather continued to plunge into the depths of her paperwork. Behind the square frames of her glasses her dark brown eyes skimmed over her work. He gave it a minute or two before he said anything.
“Hi, I-” he started.
Her hand shot up and presented only an index finger.
Puzzled, he recognized the signal and took this time to observe the room. How queer it seemed to him that despite the fact that it was in the heart of New York, he felt so isolated from society and how quaint it appeared. The room was decorated with antique paintings and various furniture. From somewhere out of sight came the sound of a soothing waterfall where it infinitely continued to play.
A wide window which extended from one side of the room to the other was concealed behind her by a long, brown curtain which corresponded brilliantly with the russet walls. Curious, he made his way over (clank, clank) to the window, where there was just enough room for him to fit comfortably behind her.
As he drew back the curtains a ray of blinding light seeped into the room, illuminating a small sector. Twenty stories below, swarms of New York’s inhabitants walked to and fro amongst their various concerns, unconscious of his scrutiny. Like ants they roamed from building to building, too fruitfully determined to tend to their own affairs and motivated by self-indulgence to allot their time to facilitate those “ants” which lie feebly on the streets, amongst the scraps of the upper castes. This was New York.
“I apologize,” crooned a restful, young voice. These soft-spoken words had come from the therapist. “Please, do have a seat.” She made a gesture towards a recliner located in front of her desk.
He walked submissively to the recliner (clank, clank), positioned himself comfortably, and waited unwearyingly to be subjected to a fury of inspiration, to surrender his low self-confidence to her prolific astuteness and –
“Sit up.” Her voice sang like a choir of angels and yet gave a hint of annoyance. The sudden wrath she exhibited made him a little uneasy, but he slowly brought himself to eye level (oh, how easily he found himself lost in those brown eyes!)
A minute elapsed of awkward silence before he made an attempt to begin the session. “Well, I started having these thoughts when –”
“For God’s sake, you haven’t even introduced yourself and you’re already discussing suicide?”
He questioned her seriousness before starting fresh. “My name is Vincent Simmons, and I work as a columnist for New York Times?” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Go on, Vince,” her voice chimed.
“Oh, I prefer Simmons, if you don’t mind.”
“Go on, Vince,” repeated that tranquil voice.
Tentative, and a little irritated, he endeavored once more to convey his emotions and seek her guidance to renovate his esteem. “Well, I started having these thoughts whenever I got a divorce with my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” She corrected.
Her dry sarcasm was grave inflammatory which incessantly bred disdain, and these petty mockeries had Vince seething. After a recollection of his thoughts, he continued to bitterly vent his feelings.
“She’s the only thing true to me, and I’ve never realized how alone I was until she left. I’ve abandoned my friends, my hobbies and my life in exchange for her, and I’m not so sure I was ready to give up what I had left. In the midst of all of this I’ve come to loathe her. And yet, something inside of me longs for her. I cannot help but feel that I cannot live without her,” he looked at the counselor who showed no sign of assurance or feeling of pity. “I feel death is the only option I can turn to.”
“That is utterly the most dim-witted, irrational load of nonsense I believe I’ve heard in a long time. Not to mention you have managed to win an award for the utmost unoriginality, kudos to you, Vince,” the woman appraised scathingly. She took note of his flabbergasted expression, and addressed it immediately. “You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet?’”
He was on his feet (clank clank). “I’m not giving this look because I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t understand what the hell you’re getting at!”
“Vince, I’m appalled!” She was on her feet too. “You may find dying for one’s absence is ‘hopelessly romantic,’ but I assure you it’s disgusting and inconceivably unappealing. I, myself, have gone through a long, agonizing divorce, but I’ve never considered suicide. You need to get over it and toughen up. She’s out there getting stuffed like a turkey and you’re here in a tiz!”
“Listen you second-rate shrink –” his belligerence bestowed him an unbounded sum of strength, and he lunged forward towards the window, heaving his now insubstantial weights behind him (clank, clank!).”I swear to you I will jump right now!”
She appeared undisturbed. “Be my guest, Vince.”
He mentally contemplated and considered each of his options swiftly. As psychologically offensive as her words may be, something about her made him unexpectedly unperturbed. His emotions seemed to abruptly evaporate into thin air and his muscles slowly relaxed. Her attractive features seemed to paralyze his movements, and a sluggish smile crept upon her thin face. “New York city has 191 buildings that exceed 500 feet. If you were going to kill yourself, you would have done it already. Now please, take a seat.”
With white flags waving in his head, Vince collapsed onto the recliner to go over the meeting and finish the basics of their sessions.
At the conclusion of the first sitting, she made one thing clear. “Please understand, Vince, these meetings won’t compare to the typical therapy sessions. This may perhaps be our last time having a meeting in my office. I will make arrangements for our next meeting and have them contacted to you by tomorrow.”
Eager to depart and get out of her office, he nodded his head, not fully understanding what she meant. He did, however, still retain the feeling of hope that she could perhaps heal is internal infirmity, and still bore a minimal amount of enthusiasm. Upon leaving, he said, “For what it is worth, I’m glad I didn’t jump out.”
“All of the windows in this building are sealed and locked, Vince.”
Vince turned on his heel, and left the room.
Clank, clank…