I'm Sure You've Heard It All Before

mornings

This is not what I was expecting to wake up to this morning. Every morning, my phone gives me a notification of what the weather is going to look like today.

When I rubbed the tiredness from my eyes, my phone gave me a description of what it's like outside.

I sprung out of my bed, though I am well aware you're not supposed to do this since it shocks your brain, and yanked my blinds.

It is fucked up.

The rain is coming down like crazy, the clouds are grayer than I've ever seen. There's even a gaggle of people running across the street and trying to make it into their houses without getting more soaked.

Too late for that.

Here's why the gloomy weather is fucking odd: I was actually looking forward to school today for the first time in a while and it's just weird that my emotions don't align with how the weather is acting up.

Whenever I'm not looking forward to going to school the sun is always bright and ready to greet me with its blinding light.

I can't control the weather, I know, but now more than ever, well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I thought today was going to be one of the better days.

When I get up out of bed I head straight to my desk and pick up my finished essay. Weirdly, I was surprised it was still there. Like I thought something would've happened to it while I was asleep. The essay is for my Advanced Creative Writing class and it's due today.

All night, I was looking forward to reading it to the class and turning it in. We've always been told that reading our essays to the class is not required but can be done for extra credit.

To be honest, the whole extra credit thing is not why I do it. It's a nice grade booster and all but really, I do enjoy sharing all my works with anyone. People forget that the whole point of writing is getting to share and listen to feedback. Unless of course, you're one of those people that write diary entries that are not to be shared with anyone.

Not that I don't write in a diary because I most definitely do. My dad gave me a lot of shit for it because it's a girl thing and I told him I would stop.

That never happened.

My diary is hidden under my bed mattress. I'm very aware that this is the stupidest place to put it since anyone would guess it'd be there.

Usually "diary" is not the word I use because journaling sounds less, I don't know, childish. Also because the nimrods at my school think it's stupid to write in a "faggy diary" as they so graciously said.

So, journal it is.

But journaling is a humbling experience that not only helps stimulate the mind (my mind) but it's a good place to write school assignments and due dates. My grades have gone up because of it. I have a 4.0 GPA (unweighted) and altogether excellent with planning with time management and all that shit.

Make no mistake, usually, I do not boast annoyingly. But look, back when I was getting C's on report cards, no one would know. But getting A's as often as I do now, something inside me tells me to tell everyone I know. It's just, damn, I can't explain it.

My mother opens my door, still in pajamas, and sets down a cup of hot chocolate on the dresser next to my door.

"Robin," she says, mirthless.

I was on my phone standing next to my bed. I look up and nod at her.

"Thanks."

She closes my door. She usually does stuff like this when she feels like it.