Cool Cherry Cream

I’ve been looking through all my old diaries, and in more recent years (ie. middle school), I find that I only wrote when I was really angry about something. Each new entry brings a new way of me saying “Jenny, you were so lame”, but then going on to further prove that point.

I realize now that that is the reason that I come off as emo — because I did only write when I was angry. If I wrote when I wasn’t angry, I would come off as a much more well-rounded kid. And so, I propose to myself that I will resume blogging every single day! There! It’s in writing! I can’t back down now!

…but first, some more angst.

Today I came into Creative Writing and sat down. The teacher says “Jen? Could you turn on the lights?”. At first, I don’t realize she’s talking to me. There’s another Jennifer in the class. But wait, no, I’m the only one!

Understandable that she asked me since I was the closest to the lights. But, but, she knew my name! How straaange. Then, during class she says, “Jennifer? I have to go photocopy some papers, if the guidance or the office calls someone down, then they can just go”. “Umm, oookay,” I say.

Again, I was shocked that she knew my name, but I was also shocked that she asked me! Me, when all the little good students that she likes were right there. Me, when there are other students sitting closer to her. Me!

When she finally came back to class (gasp, a teacher actually being in the classroom? A rather foreign concept to me this semester), she started talking about the poetry unit we’d be starting. We had a package of poems that we would be analyzing in groups. Of course, everyone wanted to do “Wonderful Tonight” by Eric Clapton. I’d say I was most entitled to it, because honestly, how many of those other kids can honestly say they’ve seen him live? And how many of them even know who Eric Clapton is? And how many of them know the song is not “sweet”, as the teacher claims it is? Well, I do guess it’s better that those who haven’t learned about it yet get a chance to. But if on presentation day, they praise it as one of the greatest love songs of the last century, well, I might just have to put them straight! (Though, I probably won’t. I’ll come here and blog about it instead though, don’t you worry).

Instead, she puts me with a girl who wasn’t there and who her friends claim is “kind of there every other day, but… umm, not really”. And she tells me “you’ll probably end up doing it yourself”. Umm… okay. So why not just let me do it myself?

Plus, this poem does not even exist. At least according to Google. Zero results when I search for the title. This guy, the poet, doesn’t have a particularly rare name (not particularly common either, but common enough), and so I don’t even know which guy wrote it — where he’s from, when he’s from… I have no clue. Plus the poem’s only nine lines long, which is not much to analyze. Plus, I’m pretty straightforward in my analysis of literature, and so that’s only nine lines I can make up bullshit about, which amounts to about one line in Jenny analysis. I’m considering making up some really crazy explanation that doesn’t really make sense, but making it seem like it does.

Anyway, when she was putting people into groups for the analysis, she asks if anyone doesn’t have a group. I put up my hand and she asks me — get this — “what’s your name?“