Life's Too Short

Eleven

When I arrive at school, The doors swing open and I stand in the line of people waiting to get off the bus. I stay silent until I say "Hello" To a girl in my class, I think her name is Victoria, I've never really socialized with people before. I plop down in my chair and start to draw in my notebook. I imagine what it would be like to start a new life, as a different person, with a different family, friends, and overall personality. But I would remember everything from this life. Has anyone else wondered that? I have many times. What if I was reborn as a flower? And I got run over by a lawnmower? ...That's a dark thought, some may think.

I wish that I could be defined as different, but nobody truly knows someone, do they? You may think you do, but you don't. You can try to guess their every move, but chances are, you're wrong. I need to stop rambling.

The teacher walks in and we start class. I try to take notes but end up drawing all over my paper. The person in front of my asks if they can borrow my notes, and I say yes. They hand it back and say "All there is are doodles." And I look at it, realizing I took ZERO notes. Well, that sums up my entire life for ya. Ha. Yup. I wish this class would just end already, it's already painfully boring listen to this primate babble over the perimeter of a square. You can only take so much of this, you know.

The bell rings, (Finally) and I walk downstairs to my art class. I sit at one of the huge, wood block tables on a stool and pull out my sketchbook. I pick up a charcoal pencil and work on a project I need for a still life thing. You guys probably don't want to read about this, so while I'm going through this class, I'll be talking through my thoughts until something interesting happens.

Like I was saying, you can never truly know someone. Unless you have a secret sense where you can read minds, then you just can't. People are just too complicated for that. I'm thinking of keeping a diary, like Anne Frank. Nah, not my thing. I wonder why I have conversations with myself like this, It isn't like someone could POSSIBLY read this, or hear this for that matter. I think my life would be an interesting biography.

I wonder what's gonna happen at that therapist's appointment? Are they just gonna ask me questions like 'How do you feel about the color yellow?' or maybe 'How does this sad kitten make you feel?'? If they are, count me the HECK out. I honestly would hate that, just being asked questions over and over.

My phone buzzes.

I check it.

My mom was in a car wreck.