64 Degrees And Cloudy

And If You Were Here

Another dreary day of school finished, another day wasted thinking about Jeremy and all the other things floating around in my head.

I sulked a little as I dragged myself home. My car privileges had been taken away for the third time in a month because my parents had discovered all my hidden cigarettes and shit. It was kind of stupid in my eyes; my dad smokes cigars all the time and my mom was a huge hippie back in college so why should they care. It's not like they're gonna be there or give a shit about what I do once I move out.

My family isn't a broken one but it is one to keep things moving. We'll push away people we don't like, and throw things under the rug if we don't want to deal with it. I have three older sisters, one older brother and two younger brothers. All my older siblings are in college at the moment. They all had summer jobs, joined school council, did volunteer work. You know, typical, white, family-based sorta kids. Pretty much town idols. I hadn't gotten a job in ever, though I did spend a couple summers filling gas at the local gas station just outside of town. I prided myself in those few months of employment, though I was paid in snickers bars and secret packs of Backwoods and Dutch Masters instead of actual money. Having a job was the one fulfilling thing about growing older to me. At least I wasn't pestered so much or yelled at for being lazy.

The problem now is I can't get a job. I applied everywhere; the grocery store, the burger chain down the road from my place, at the mechanics, you name it, I went there. Once I was past the age of twelve shit like the morning paper route wasn't optional anymore, and doing odd jobs for people at my age looked desperate. I guess being desperate is something I never want to be. Being desperate hurts. After Quinn left I was desperate. Three months of trying to get her back were now gone and wasted. I wish I hadn't been such a fucking sap and wasted them. When I went into remedial classes for math I became desperate again. Looking at Jeremy, I bet he was fucking desperate too. Desperate to get out of this fucking world even if it meant he had to claw his way out the door. Or maybe shoot.

I hate walking home. It gives me more time to think.

I hate it.