|An Open Letter to My High School
||March 17, 2003
|RANT #176: Society & Politics
Summary: The angst never ends.
|Dear High School,|
It's been years since we've been in one another's presence. I know I haven't been visiting or calling. I suppose the length of our relationship (an astonishing five years!) should merit some kind of friendly touching-of-bases. The problem is . . .
Well, the problem is, I still hate you worse than I'd hate a million leaches gnawing on my scalp, or possibly a nude Janet Reno in my bed.
It feels quite silly to still hold a grudge. Feeling rather embarassed, I recently visited your web site, in the hopes that my animosity had subsided to the point at which I could check up on you and see how you're doing. No dice. Just reading your name made me want to cry and listen to bad music all over again.
It wasn't the hard tasks you set me, although those were enough to make me sob away my weekends. It was more your aloofness, your unique sense of superiority. I blame your elite patronage. The evil people you nurtured weren't comfortingly destined to work at Miccy Dees', like the evils who plagued / assaulted / wedgied my closest friends from other schools. Instead, your darlings were sickeningly rich and abhorently smart. They'll be my doctors. They'll be my lawyers. And, sweet momma Irony, they'll be my shrinks.
They weren't all terrible, dear, but I tend to believe that the good ones were those who defied you. Or at least hid under a rock, clutching their scruples tightly. The quiet ones. I was one of those, or at least I like to think so. And I can tell you that being quiet is the most angrificating thing in the world.
Silly, eh? Your power to continually annoy bothers me greatly. I do ignore your gifts. In an attempt to avoid universities that were reputedly like you, I ran into some of the best friends of my life. Also, I learned some purely academic things from you. And you taught me a brutal lesson: that people can be so pressured by their situation that they can give each other total hell.
Then again, I could have just read Lord of the Flies.
I'm sure there are others who feel continued angst. And, as foolish as it is, I feel comforted that I don't let it bog me down. But on rainy March nights, when I'm all alone in my apartment, the mind wanders, and I find myself wishing I could win the Nobel Prize just so I could leave you out of my acceptance speech. How deliciously petty.
Hope you're keeping out of trouble,
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