please tell me i wasn't like that
Jan. 25th, 2003 03:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
godreamSo here I am, typing away, as my thirteen-year-old stepsister and her best friend lean in to the other computer in the room and whisper. Honestly, people. Two points here:
a.) I have bad hearing, but I am not deaf. I can hear you, and:
b.) newsflash: I couldn't care less. I promise I have no idea who you're gossiping about (whispering she's such a wannabe: we hate her!... she tries to be all punk one day and then prep the next-- do you think it's because she's brazilian? they don't know what they are), I think all the cute little slogans you're debating cut-and-pasting are stupid (a friend helps you up when you fall -- a best friend laughs cause she's the one who tripped you), and there's noone else in the room to hide from. I am so apathetic on all of your issues that I can't even be bothered to think of a metaphor or something about it.
...and yeah, I know, I know, I'm being all holier-than-thou and it's as ridiculous as anything they're doing. I do realize that I was thirteen three years ago and probably an immature brat too. I was into, let's see, Spice Girls I think, and I spent my share of time thinking about the current crush, and I had my times spent with my other stepsister who was in my grade and school talking about person x and person y who did this-or-that. But I would like to think I wasn't this crass, this tasteless, this vapidly cruel, and especially that I didn't take myself quite this seriously. I hope.
"Are you a rebel?" asks her friend. I glance up: it's something I've given some thought to, but I kinda thought I gave off more geek vibes here with my hours online, jeans and tshirt and ponytail, and studious attempts at tuning them out. "I find that the people who consider themselves rebels generally aren't," I evade, not really in the mood for a long discussion of my overly-condescending and embarrassingly stereotype-filled view of the Popular People and the un Popular People, who IMHO are really the same thing except in darker clothing with more hair dye and piercings. She giggles, and makes a long and illogical statement of the paradox I know that comment leads to, and I'm still here realizing that in spite of every word I've written I still take myself too seriously, still want other people to read my mind and laugh only when I mean them to, and still need to learn to more often laugh at myself.
Cause, I mean, me being completely antisocial and all, what better source for entertainment than myself, right? Or something.
Please note: This entire entry should probably be blamed on hormones and that time that fantasy novels insist on referring to as one's "moontime", which when I'm in one of these moods seems entirely too romantic a moniker for my least favorite week of every month. I'm off now to go get some sleep, which as I reread this post is only seeming like a better and better idea...
a.) I have bad hearing, but I am not deaf. I can hear you, and:
b.) newsflash: I couldn't care less. I promise I have no idea who you're gossiping about (whispering she's such a wannabe: we hate her!... she tries to be all punk one day and then prep the next-- do you think it's because she's brazilian? they don't know what they are), I think all the cute little slogans you're debating cut-and-pasting are stupid (a friend helps you up when you fall -- a best friend laughs cause she's the one who tripped you), and there's noone else in the room to hide from. I am so apathetic on all of your issues that I can't even be bothered to think of a metaphor or something about it.
...and yeah, I know, I know, I'm being all holier-than-thou and it's as ridiculous as anything they're doing. I do realize that I was thirteen three years ago and probably an immature brat too. I was into, let's see, Spice Girls I think, and I spent my share of time thinking about the current crush, and I had my times spent with my other stepsister who was in my grade and school talking about person x and person y who did this-or-that. But I would like to think I wasn't this crass, this tasteless, this vapidly cruel, and especially that I didn't take myself quite this seriously. I hope.
"Are you a rebel?" asks her friend. I glance up: it's something I've given some thought to, but I kinda thought I gave off more geek vibes here with my hours online, jeans and tshirt and ponytail, and studious attempts at tuning them out. "I find that the people who consider themselves rebels generally aren't," I evade, not really in the mood for a long discussion of my overly-condescending and embarrassingly stereotype-filled view of the Popular People and the un Popular People, who IMHO are really the same thing except in darker clothing with more hair dye and piercings. She giggles, and makes a long and illogical statement of the paradox I know that comment leads to, and I'm still here realizing that in spite of every word I've written I still take myself too seriously, still want other people to read my mind and laugh only when I mean them to, and still need to learn to more often laugh at myself.
Cause, I mean, me being completely antisocial and all, what better source for entertainment than myself, right? Or something.
Please note: This entire entry should probably be blamed on hormones and that time that fantasy novels insist on referring to as one's "moontime", which when I'm in one of these moods seems entirely too romantic a moniker for my least favorite week of every month. I'm off now to go get some sleep, which as I reread this post is only seeming like a better and better idea...
