the story of me: one (josie grossie)

i'm sitting here trying to recall high school. the formative years of my adulthood are but a faint memory. i'm looking through pictures of faces i recognize and names i've forgotten. i can't remember what classes i took, who i sat beside, my teacher's name(s) or what time the bells rung but i can smell that favourite blue plaid, feel the crunch of saran wrapped shitty weed in my jean pocket, hear the snicker of clear skinned seniors and clean nosed achievers. i probably hated you in high school: you probably made me feel like shit without knowing i existed.

the four, long years were spent bouncing between the quintessential loner (for me: robin tunney in empire records) and a try-so-hard-to-fit-in-you-stand-out rebel (lindsay weir, anyone?). angst! fear. rebellion! tears. i would never, ever do it again. the bad poetry, awkward attempts at romance and complete social ineptitude that encapsulated my life is not uncommon among teenage girls: i know this and i feel for you. stick it out, try not to get knocked up and hold onto your journals... you'll laugh at them in ten years. right before you set them on fire.