Run, Lola, Run.

Ain’t nothing more boring than sitting in class staring at a clock that stopped working about half way through the semester.

That’s what I first thought, about, oh, a day ago.

I now know, there is such a thing as ‘dying of boredom’.

Because, you se, I am dying of boredom.

The teacher, bless his tardy soul, hasn’t shown up.

God love us, and the class was about as silent as a snowy day.

So, alas, here I be, sitting in that desk that’s farthest from the door, with an empty desk beside me, curse Matt for being able to stay home on such a retched day.

So maybe he has a cold. He shouldn’t be so selfish; she should save me for my self-inflicted loner-insults.

Hella lot of good he’s doing munching on popcorn, slurping slurpees (honestly, dude? Its like below five thousand) and catching kernels.

So maybe he was really just eating an apple, drinking apple juice, in his apple-bottom (not the jeans) jams.

So maybe I have no idea what he’s doing.

But I’ve got to be close? Maybe he’s wearing his orange bottom jams, with apple-jam top and eating popcorn and shooting up the kernels?

Curse my lack-thereof-knowledge on my friend.

There was nothing to be said about the dull caricature barbarians on the wall, or the phone that kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. And ringing.

There was nothing to be said about the hangman figure on the board with the letters, B, G, R, K, M, S, O, and N as the wrong letters.

Nope.

Everything was very mellow as of right now. The classroom had escalated into a dull murmur of students’ voices, the sound of binders closing, pencils drawing, papers crinkling, chalk sketching.

My life was a monotonous, mundane, lifeless existence without my other half. How pathetic.

The harsh brrring resounds through the windowless room – I swear, this was once used as a torture chamber, there’s gotta be a reason for that menacing coat hanger – and the sounds I don’t need to explain have started, as the door swings open and slams against the not-at-all useful door stopper.

The hallway was like it always was, swarming with buzzy, not busy, bees, all sorts of people, really. You know how hallways are like, supremely busy, usually, and usually, very, very crowded with minimal space to maneuver with the mountain stack of science, English, math, reading, pencil box. Whichever, whatever.

Weaving through the many kids whom were lazily walking to whatever class they had for the moment, myself, I was just trying to get through the throng of kids that were not letting up.

Meaning I could not get through without using my hockey player knowledge and start to use my imaginary shoulder pads to knock the fellow shoulders – or in my case, fellow stomachs, think Amy Poehler – out of my way.

I never imagined I’d be having a conversation to myself about having to push through a beehive of students but alas, this is what the heartbreak of the feeling of abandonment, I will have to live with this rather pubescent dream of popularity in my mind for just a tad while longer.

I will live.

For the most part.

And when I had thought I could get no lower in life, I am whammed with a hard volleyball to the side of my jaw – metaphorically speaking, I mean who doesn’t get knocked into place by a ball that had just been served by a chemically-induced-muscle-man volleyball player?

I ask you.

But I digress. Sound familiar?

Digress what from, exactly? I digress from my inability to mass-produce shoulder pads for those whom need to smash their foe’s shoulders just to make it to their locker at least five seconds after the bell has rang.

Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to create an inner mind form that allows me to affect those who’s actions are affecting and around me. Stephanie Meyers, I’ve got a proposition for you.

Maybe, with the help of a writer’s expertise like mine, she’d be able to produce a book that doesn’t stink. So maybe the books are a fraction of a bit (just a fraction of, say, 1/10000) better than the movies (acting classes, people) but still.
I have a problem, I admit. I should control my ability to not digress to topics that really, truly don’t involve my original intent and purpose.

Which was?

I can’t remember now. Something about hockey.

But, the bright side of the rainbow is that I’ve safely and securely made it to my locker with all parts attached and seemingly unscathed. Another win for the sophomore.

I’ve no idea what we’ve got next, I’ve managed to misplace my schedule in under one week, which I’m sure must be some kind of challenge, and I just came out, once aain, the winner.

Maybe I’m just a born winner. Seems righteous enough.

Going for the next best thing, I catch the body of a fellow classmate, eyeing the books that were topped on top of her orange and black binder. Laying precariously near the edge of the binder, is a blue and orange (what’s with all the orange?) English textbook.

Fantastic.

It was one thing to have math in the morning and have a test; it was another to have English in the morning, which you weren’t prepared for, and have a test in the morning, also of which you weren’t prepared for.

My life was over, it was pathetic and it was truly, and entirely boring to the fullest, fattest, wholliest extent.

Even if wholliest isn’t even a word.

Digression, once again.

Technically speaking, my mouth ran faster than an athletics race to the end. Honest to the Goddess, I can’t control half the things that come out of my mouth. I just stick some super glue on my foot and stick it to my mouth for the many times I have put my foot in my mouth for my stupid wrongdoing sentences.

Honest to God, I was more terrible than a gossiping thirteen year old.