End of Days

Hey, remember when you were a fat, introverted, high school loser? Ah, those were the days, weren't they? The high school heirarchy and cruel social dynamics. Being summarily sloughed into the ranks of the verbally inept and aesthetically inferior in the name of perserving the great spiritual great meat grinder. Ah if only I could have fathomed the principles of Machivellian scheming in my awkward formative years. I was still foolishly permeated by the "Be yourself" policy of social interaction. It was a terrible 12 years of life (my elementary and middle schooling were agony as well). But hey, I deserved it. I couldn't keep my fat little fingers off of those single-serving Ore Ida french fry packs.

Now, years after disavowing my existence as a sixteen year old, I see my scars resurface and glow red and green. Why, you ask? HERE'S WHY:

www.christinacindrich.com

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This walking syringe of syrup was the Queen of my high school class (and I mean that in the most insectiod sense of the word, she had drones). It seems that the popularity contest never did end, I just journeyed past its borders.

Stop being a Dick, Mark, you say. This woman is a human being with feelings and dreams and aspirations. What did she ever do to you? Nothing, dear reader, nothing. I was a flicker of stench to this butterfly, incommunicative, translucent. And it is not the woman herself who irks me so terribly, but rather the system that rewarded her. She was an unwitting figurehead of sorts. As much a victim of back-biting and slander as I was of envy and obscurity.

In college I discovered my own clique. A theatre society that rewarded me bountifully for the random stage abilities that I had. I didn't earn them. God just predisposed me to control of my inflections. And now upon reflection, I feel a certain horror that I have become just another pointed tooth in the Grinder.

So where is the middleground? Can one escape the fury and torment of being a Walking Nothing without ascending to the position of Loathed Oppressor? How? And more hauntingly, will that balance satisfy the soul?

Markre