The Best Cinco de Mayo Ever
May. 5th, 2004 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vollmusIt started out as a good day. I woke up on time and decided to doll up a bit; I put on a necklace one of my best friends gave me for Christmas in eighth grade, I wore makeup, I did my hair, and everything matched. It made me kind of happy to be semi-dressy in my light blue shirt, medium blue jeans, and black shoes, with the necklace and the makeup, so I was in a good mood on the way to school.
In first period, we started watching Galippoli, a 1981 Australian film with Mel Gibson about WWI. I got to watch about twenty minutes before I was called away to take the Reading WASL (Washington Assessment of Student Learning) because I was absent on the days everyone else did it. It's strange, but I didn't really mind taking it. I mean, I knew it was going to be easy, I wouldn't have to watch any more of the weird movie, and it would get me out of math if I took long enough. I finished the two tests in about two hours with a ten minute break in the middle, which I spent talking to Emily S, who was in there taking Reading 1 and Science 2. It was really fun, I've missed talking to her in fourth last semester, and the tests were extremely simple, they just required a lot of writing.
In fourth, English, we had a free work day. I read Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, the book we have to have reading logs for and a ten minute oral on by next Wednesday, and wrote a bunch of comments all over the margins because I absolutely abhor it. It actually soothed my anger to write so many satiric and sarcastic comments everywhere, so I was in a good mood for lunch.
Lunch was great. Samantha and I schemed to get Vaness and this one guy together, and it totally didn't work, but we didn't really mean for it to work anyway. So yeah, it was fun.
French was amusing, and pleasing because I understood everything. I think I like that class so much not just because of the awesome people and the cool teacher, but because I can understand the language fairly well. I've always liked things that I can relatively excel at, just like everyone else I've ever known, so it's not much of a surprise now that I've realized it. Anyway, French was fun, too.
Then I go to the parking lot to wait for my brother. He stayed home sick today, you see, so either he or my dad was supposed to pick me up. Well, I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Thirty minutes passed, and by now I was sitting on the curb marking up Their Eyes Were Watching God in a futile attempt to make my extreme anger at my brother go away. Futile being the operative word. I decided to go call, so I went inside and asked my French teacher if I could use her phone. She said yes, so I called... and called... and called. I called the home line five times, and my dad's cell at least three times. I'm sure you can guess that no one picked up.
I started walking home. Hell, what's a three hour walk? Certainly not hard. Not hard, but definitely annoying. Why the hell am I going to make myself suffer when this is my dumbass brother's fault? No way am I going to walk! I'm going back, and my brother will have to pick me up and suffer my wrath.
Yeah, he would have suffered that wrath if he had showed up within the next ten minutes. But he didn't, and by then I was crying. I had started walking to my friend's house, who lives five minutes away from school, but turned back because I had no idea what to say to anyone. I absolutely hate not knowing what to do. I can't stand it. I started crying when I realized that I had three options, that none of them were appealing, and that I couldn't figure out which one was the best.
I started walking back to school and was walking on the sidewalk between the road and the school when I saw my brother in our Suzuki Samurai, an hour late. He stopped and opened the door for me. I got in, still crying, and blocked my face from his view, but I was sniffling a bit so he knew I was crying. He asked why, and I told him that I hadn't known what to do, and that I hated not knowing what to do. He gave a really lame apology, but I was too busy trying to stop crying and start yelling or doing anything other than cry that I didn't really care at the time.
But I do care. It pisses me off and makes me really depressed that my brother forgot me. That my dad didn't notice that he hadn't left to pick me up yet, twenty minutes after school ended. God, at least now I know how loved I am around here.
In first period, we started watching Galippoli, a 1981 Australian film with Mel Gibson about WWI. I got to watch about twenty minutes before I was called away to take the Reading WASL (Washington Assessment of Student Learning) because I was absent on the days everyone else did it. It's strange, but I didn't really mind taking it. I mean, I knew it was going to be easy, I wouldn't have to watch any more of the weird movie, and it would get me out of math if I took long enough. I finished the two tests in about two hours with a ten minute break in the middle, which I spent talking to Emily S, who was in there taking Reading 1 and Science 2. It was really fun, I've missed talking to her in fourth last semester, and the tests were extremely simple, they just required a lot of writing.
In fourth, English, we had a free work day. I read Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, the book we have to have reading logs for and a ten minute oral on by next Wednesday, and wrote a bunch of comments all over the margins because I absolutely abhor it. It actually soothed my anger to write so many satiric and sarcastic comments everywhere, so I was in a good mood for lunch.
Lunch was great. Samantha and I schemed to get Vaness and this one guy together, and it totally didn't work, but we didn't really mean for it to work anyway. So yeah, it was fun.
French was amusing, and pleasing because I understood everything. I think I like that class so much not just because of the awesome people and the cool teacher, but because I can understand the language fairly well. I've always liked things that I can relatively excel at, just like everyone else I've ever known, so it's not much of a surprise now that I've realized it. Anyway, French was fun, too.
Then I go to the parking lot to wait for my brother. He stayed home sick today, you see, so either he or my dad was supposed to pick me up. Well, I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Thirty minutes passed, and by now I was sitting on the curb marking up Their Eyes Were Watching God in a futile attempt to make my extreme anger at my brother go away. Futile being the operative word. I decided to go call, so I went inside and asked my French teacher if I could use her phone. She said yes, so I called... and called... and called. I called the home line five times, and my dad's cell at least three times. I'm sure you can guess that no one picked up.
I started walking home. Hell, what's a three hour walk? Certainly not hard. Not hard, but definitely annoying. Why the hell am I going to make myself suffer when this is my dumbass brother's fault? No way am I going to walk! I'm going back, and my brother will have to pick me up and suffer my wrath.
Yeah, he would have suffered that wrath if he had showed up within the next ten minutes. But he didn't, and by then I was crying. I had started walking to my friend's house, who lives five minutes away from school, but turned back because I had no idea what to say to anyone. I absolutely hate not knowing what to do. I can't stand it. I started crying when I realized that I had three options, that none of them were appealing, and that I couldn't figure out which one was the best.
I started walking back to school and was walking on the sidewalk between the road and the school when I saw my brother in our Suzuki Samurai, an hour late. He stopped and opened the door for me. I got in, still crying, and blocked my face from his view, but I was sniffling a bit so he knew I was crying. He asked why, and I told him that I hadn't known what to do, and that I hated not knowing what to do. He gave a really lame apology, but I was too busy trying to stop crying and start yelling or doing anything other than cry that I didn't really care at the time.
But I do care. It pisses me off and makes me really depressed that my brother forgot me. That my dad didn't notice that he hadn't left to pick me up yet, twenty minutes after school ended. God, at least now I know how loved I am around here.
