cantaloupes

Damn, today has been exhausting. I've been plagued with a throbbing headache for most of the day, and because I'm a percussionist during first hour -- yeah, well. The little men dwelling within my skull began insistently pounding against my temples in a fruitless attempt to escape. Somehow, I managed to later bust the vibraphone pedal during the announcements, and everyone's eyes met with my own as a loud chink-chunk-THUD! was emitted as a result.

Meanwhile, for someone who's accustomed to being on the honor roll and such, the feeling of drowning in homework is an unfamiliar one. When I discovered I had two additional chapters of The Odyssey to read and summarize and I was already behind by four, my eyes bulged (much like a fish) and I began yanking my hair from my scalp (unlike a fish). My English teacher snickered sadistically and scoffed, telling me that the workload was nothing compared to that of second semester.

Later, I had to stay after school for an hour and a half or so to take the geometry exam that I was unprepared to take before break. For some unknown reason, Mrs. Johnson decided to give me a different test than the other students had been given -- one that was a few pages longer and was far more tedious. As I slaved away and shoved myself into thinking faster so I could get the hell home, I overheard the math team conversing and practicing next door. From what I gathered by listening, students sign up to 'present,' or in other words, teach their peers various math problems in preparation for future math meets. If one decides to sign up to perform such a presentation, the math team coach presents that person with a few problems along with their corresponding answers -- you know, so they can check their work.

Next, we'll introduce you to Padhraig, someone I have mentioned previously in this diary. Padhraig considers himself considerably more intelligent than his classmates and has this undying need to one-up everyone and their dead goldfish. Whatever significant achievement you have accomplished, Padhraig either (1) has done something remarkably more admirable, or (2) there's some painfully obvious reason as to why he hasn't done something remarkably more admirable.

Thus, because Padhraig is so obviously gifted in the field of mathematics, he often offers to present during math team practices. I could clearly hear him lecturing from my seat in the next room. I could also hear the snide and highly sarcastic comments being made by his fellow math team members. However, after the practice session had ended, I overheard Mrs. Johnson mutter, 'Patrick¹ must've used six yards of my overhead roll, and he didn't even understand what it was he was doing in the first place.'

Mrs. Ihrke, otherwise known as the math team coach, went on to complain that although she had given Padhraig the answers to his four problems, he had cast them away out of pride, thinking that he excelled so greatly in math that he didn't need to consult them. She claimed it was obvious that he had not prepared, and to support her observation, she added in disgust, 'He didn't even remember the formula to calculate the area of a trapezoid.'

Mrs. Ihrke continued in annoyance, 'I spoke with him and said that he needed to prepare so that he knew where he was going with his extensive lectures. He said something or another about how Mrs. Johnson had failed to remember how to complete a certain problem in the book the previous year, that she had said something along the lines of, "I'm not sure how to do this, but the book does such-and-such."'

Mrs. Johnson instantly retorted, 'Sure, I forgot one of two-thousand problems in the book -- he only had four and had two weeks in which to prepare them.'

They spoke awhile longer of how he thought of his abilities too highly, and that it was his parents that had probably instilled such an idea within him. Mrs. Ihrke explained how one day he had approached her when it was obvious she was extremely busy and asked her a question that had nothing to do with what they were currently studying in class, and that she had wanted to scream, 'GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!' Their laughter echoed down the hallway as they further discussed how infuriatingly annoying he was.

I wanted to hug them.

After I came home from school, I discovered that one of my koishii's friends says crude things about me solely for the purpose of provoking him, things like how easy it would be to rape me. If I wasn't practically tripping with overwhelming fatigue, I probably would've busted up laughing. I was sexually abused multiple times back in the day, and truly I tell you, if he even vaguely attempted to rape me, he would suddenly find himself considerably less of a man. If someone was overhearing the entire ordeal elsewhere, they'd first hear a sickening tearing noise, and then an ear-bleeding shriek. It's difficult to take such a threat seriously while picturing such a scene in my mind because it tickles me so. It's like someone claiming that they're going to slice your throat open and then imagining that their noggin is one mammoth cantaloupe.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I love my imagination.

¹ Padhraig's given name is Patrick, but Resa and I renamed him Padhraig in order to distinguish him from Pat, my koishii.