Diary of a Pessimist

It’s Friday, and the best part of the day is going to be the final bell. Not because school’s over and I can get ready to go to the open house party at Brian Finn’s house with the entire senior class. Not because I can sleep in the next day or make out with my girlfriend all night. It’s the best part because then I don’t have to see these losers who are looking forward to the house party and sleeping and making out with their girlfriends for an entire weekend. And on that note, the day could not be going any slower. It’s only the start of second period and I’m already debating whether I should stab myself or my neighbor, Michele Briar, with my pen so she’ll shut up and stop talking, loudly enough for everyone in the class to hear her, about how she’s going to get "so shitfaced" over the weekend and make her ex-boyfriend "so jealous" he’ll take her back.

I know way more about Michele Briar’s social life than I like to admit. And it’s not as if I’m listening or anything, it’s just that you can only block out so much when she whines about her life every goddamn day during AP Literature. Because of this I’m not quite sure whether I should be happy or not when Annie Renolds comes in and sits down in the seat on the other side of my desk. It’s a welcome distraction from Michele Briar, but Annie in herself is another annoyance I now have to put up with.

Annie isn’t pretty. There’s a certain plainness to her face that you can’t quite avoid. Her eyes are a murky brown hue that reminds me of shit, and her nose is slightly too large for her face. When she smiles you can see too much of her gums, giving her the faint resemblance of a whinnying horse. However, there’s a light in her eyes that makes her appear beautiful. Everyone loves Annie. Guys practically line up outside her door to date her, and it’s not just because she’s easy. It’s because she’s genuinely an attractive person, in the most basic meaning of the word, even considering she’s not a pretty one.

I’m one of the few people who can’t stand Annie; she annoys me, maybe not as much as Michele Briar, but still. Annie’s an optimist, the everyone-is-made-of-their-own-beauty kind of person. I’m the opposite. Everyone is not beautiful in their own way, and saying that everyone is beautiful takes away from those who truly are. No one is unique, and no one is original. We’re all the same, and everyone’s just too proud to admit it. Well, everyone but Annie. She’s not too proud – she’s just naïve.

“Matt,” she grins at me. “How are you?”

I want to tell her I’m absolutely fantastic, because clearly that’s what she wants to hear, and if I was a better person I would lie to make her feel good. But I’m not a liar, nor have I ever been one, and I’m not about to become one over Annie Renolds’s happiness.

“I’ve been sitting here for five minutes listening about weekend plans I don’t give a shit about, this class hasn’t even started yet and it’s already been the worst period of the day. How does it sound like I am?” I say in biting sarcasm.

Annie laughs a genuine laugh, and gives me a genuine smile. God, I hate her sometimes.

“It’s only second period,” she says. “But on the bright side at least it’s Friday!”

I roll my eyes at her. I hate that phrase, ‘on the bright side.’ There is no ‘bright side’, there’s only one side and it’s sure as hell not bright. Before I can tell her this, however, the bell rings and our teacher enters the classroom. The class quickly quiets down and Mr. Blake gives us our assignment for the day. We’re supposed to spend the period writing the first draft to our college application letters, our only options for our topics are a significant experience or a significant person that has affected us in any way. Because I have neither a significant experience nor person to write about, and I’m not entirely sure that I even want to go to college, I spend the period doodling made up cartoon characters on my loose-leaf paper.

As per usual, it’s going to be a long Friday.