There are a plethora of things I dislike in life.
People who can't handle my amazing sarcasm, my fossil of a next door neighbor who constantly asks when I'm getting a haircut, clowns or anyone who likes them, and homework, especially summer homework because what kind of sick bastard would do such a thing?
Luckily for me, one of those dislikes is about to be cut off the list because, at the end of the week, I'm graduating.
It is time to leave the high school education system. I'm meant to join the college life where I will waste 4+ years of my life to receive a paper that reminds me of the crippling debt I earned, which will likely lead to severe stress and anxiety that's going to take 10 to 15 years off my life. I don't really care though seeing as living past 60 seems like a hassle and I'm not up to that.
Perhaps I should have taken up smoking in hopes to lessen my likely prolonged life because, seeing as I wish to die young, that means I will live a while, right? That is how the world functions; you get whatever you don't want because god forbid people actually achieve happiness.
On a more serious note, the idea of graduating is one that leaves me feeling a bit numb. Numb in the sense that I have so much on my mind that I can't seem to process all of it at once. Different emotions are going through me at different times for different reasons ranging from something small that I can look over, to something big that makes me lay in bed whimpering over how I'm meant to survive out in the real world.
On the one hand, goodbye high school, all the assholes in it and those stupid "clique's" that are made whether people continue believing in them or not. Goodbye to waking early Monday through Friday to attend a box, a prison cell really, filled with fellow inmates who are as frustrated and annoyed with seeing the same faces as I am. Goodbye high school drama, teachers who claimed"you'll need this for the rest of your life so you better not forget it", and sitting through classes that have basically nothing to do with what anyone actually wants to do in life. Thanks, goodbye, farewell, sweet dreams!
It is nice thinking about leaving such a place, although, my high school experience hasn't really been a bad one. Not to toot my own horn but, I'm a fairly popular guy, getting along with most, going out to have fun on a regular basis with friends and never getting into much trouble.
However, high school is a dangerous place no matter how popular one claims to be. One little slip up and you can hit rock bottom, become the laughing stock of thousands of kids, the fuck up mascot of the school that will take the blame for everything. The thought of leaving all that is relieving because college seems less like a dog eat dog world and more like a, "we're all trying to be adults now so lets at least try to play nice even if on the inside we want to claw each others eyes out". I prefer that even if 9 times out of 10 I'd probably just claw someone's eyes out.
On the other hand, hello depression followed by a series of panic attacks and existential crises after realizing that I'm on the road to becoming an adult. I'll have to do adult things like pay taxes, work, pretend to care when people speak to me as well as doing my laundry more than once a month. Hello sitting through classes that could last up to 3 hours, working on projects for hours, days, weeks, even months because that portfolio I'm building is basically going to be my life for the next 4 years.
Hello to wondering if anyone will ever make more than minimum wage, if it is worth going to school for a degree that doesn't even guarantee a job. Hello to meeting professors who honestly can't give a shit less about me or anyone because they have 101 other students with the same problem so, get over your damn self. Fix your own problems, you are now an adult, oh, and fuck you. Thanks, nice to meet you too, everyone go cry in a corner.
Of course, all that is my extreme exaggeration seeing as I still have a week left of school and no idea if college life will be that cruel. Everyone has heard stories and I'm simply giving myself low standards so that I won't be disappointed because...well, if you are always pessimistic life can't come in and fuck you up the ass since you are doing it to yourself already. That is my philosophy through life and so far it works!
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
As much as I dread the idea of being an adult I'm also a bit excited in a totally sick and twisted kind of way. The sense of freedom that I'm going to get makes everything a bit exhilarating. I'm not sure how to explain my feelings with a single word, likely can't honestly.
Senior year flew by so fast that I didn't even realize it, which makes things a bit worse. How can a school year go by so quickly? In a blink of an eye would be an understatement. Without any notice I was driven into by a Mac truck and forced into reality that I'm graduating no matter how much I cling to the idea of remaining in high school that I have grown accustomed to. Even if I dig into the floors with teeth and nails I am still going to be forcefully dragged out and thrown into the big world that seems more like a gladiator's arena day by day.
Regardless of my extreme pessimistic and depressing views on graduating and life in general, my best friend doesn't seem to understand such thoughts. Pity, I have been trying for years to turn her to the dark side. It has yet to work, in a way, that is better seeing as someone has to be the ball of sunshine in our duo. It sure as hell ain't me.
"Three more days!" Olivia screams with her arms held high above her head. Her short legs kick about before her while she claps loudly, wildly, almost as if she's possessed. I wouldn't be surprised. Such happiness is clearly fake and needs to be destroyed. "Can you believe it, Mylo? Three days and we're out of here, gone, no more high school!"
I, with little to no enthusiasm, twirl my finger in the air while replying with the utmost sarcasm, "Yippee."
Olivia doesn't even acknowledge my lack of care, as she has grown accustomed to my need to sass. Damn, I need to step my game up.
"No more Mr. Michaels to tell me to stop wearing jeans with holes in them! No more Bobby Duntz pretending like we're still in the 6th grade and trying to take people's lunch money."
I snicker at that one.
"No more shitty cafeteria food or trigonometry!" Olivia slams her hands against her cheeks as if she just realized the answers to life itself. With her jaw hanging low, she looks to me with wide eyes that tell me how pleased she is at her realization. Heaven has been revealed to her, the sun has grown brighter; the world is full of bliss!
"I only need a basic college algebra class, Mylo. Mylo..." She proceeds to grab my arm and tug. With a quivering bottom lip, her eyes actually seem to water up a bit.
I roll my eyes, and she calls me dramatic?
"Only one math class, sweet potatoes and tomatoes this is great."
"Sweet potatoes and tomatoes?" I cock a brow, that's a new one.
Olivia is squealing again making my poor ears in need of a good popping. So, as I dig my finger into my ear pulling it away afterwards to flick whatever I may have gotten out at some poor freshmen walking past, I point out, "There will also be no Sonya Greggor."
Olivia's face plummets, as if she was on the moon and suddenly hit earth with enough force to knock every ounce of happiness out of her. I sneer while the girl lets go of me, her shoulders slumping and head dropping before she lets out a long heavy sigh, "Why you gotta hurt me like that?"
"I like the suffering of others. It's a huge turn on."
"You fucking sadist."
Snapping my fingers, I agree. "You right."
What can I say? I enjoy some good suffering. It's my guilty pleasure.
Olivia runs both her hands through her long brown hair. It always does as it pleases, remaining straight some days, curly the next, frizzy and wavy during the summer. It's why Olivia comes equipped with hats at all times. I always find her hats in the oddest of places too, like stuffed in her shoes, under seats, shoved into the couch cushions, literally, they are everywhere. I found one in my shoe once. I don't even want to ask how or why it got there.
Olivia begins to comb through the mess she calls hair, pulling it up then confining it to a ponytail before slipping the tail of it through the hole of her baseball cap. Once the mass is secured on her head, she looks to me, the shadow of her hat cutting over her brown eyes that are still clearly visible thanks to their natural sparkle.
"I'm...I'm g-g-gonna t-tell her," Olivia says with little to no confidence, which is normal for her. Unlike myself who often oozes, as some have put it, unworthy confidence, Olivia lacks confidence even in the things she deserves to be confident in.
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