Letters to Strangers

She tapped my face and said, "What the hell happened to you?" and I ignored everyone in favor of yelling at Charlie and getting my work done. Tomorrow needs to be over, with or without the hives and the hatred and the awkward, "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, SIT!" like we were sheep or dogs or monkeys.

I don't even really know why I'm writing this.
I am really fucking tired.

I don't feel all bad. It's just one of those you-could-cut-the-tension-with-a-knife situations between everyone and everything. I swear to God the majority of my class devolved within the last week into raging five-year-olds. What the hell? Tomorrow is The End and Wargo is trying to take Dakota's pants off in the middle of graduation practice. Fucking idiots, I swear.

The sad thing is, with each second we realize more and more we're all going to be gone, and I've gone totally backwards on myself. The people I thought I would miss are hiding in he background picking their wedgies and flinging spitwads, and the people that I didn't get a chance to be with are suddenly coming out of the woodwork. Could it have been different, if I wasn't what they all knew me as? Would I have wound up where I am? I get to know Pierce more and more each day, and we do donuts in the parking lot and scream because there's nothing better to do, and it reminds me of Bunny and how that little window of time was so depressing but so amazing. I hated everything, and I loved everything, and it always made me want to throw up.

I told Mrs. Hysell today - "I gave up migraines for hives. I miss the migraines, honestly." and I handed her an ice cream sundae and sat down for no reason. I had my hair up all day to keep it out of my face and it was incredibly strange. I'm sitting on that edge of everything where I just need to make that one, final jump away and run out into the open like it would make some sort of difference.

This whole concept has changed.