My clan
<< 3:43 p.m. - Friday, Nov. 29, 2002 >>
There is so much wit in the written word. Where is it when I write? All around me, informed people speak of specifics in which dry humor is administered and small chuckles given. I look for belly laughs. I use physical comedy � spoken word is so rare in school. I use my face instead.

I�m reading Speak. The story of a freshmen outcast. The world is dark for her. A ghostly parade of opaque veils and blood spilling into the street. The book is forcing me to think about cliques or �clans� that we find ourselves in. I always thought of our group as accepting and open. Upon scrutiny, I see how that we have had no new �members� since sixth grade. Now it�s eleventh grade, am I crueler than I realized?

I picture the girl in my History of the Americas class. She came in during mid October. Saying very little and sitting alone near her locker at lunch. Will I try and befriend her? It�s very doubtful.

I get so wrapped up in my melancholy life, surrounded my oblivious friends (not E-girl or Black Nails) and feeling sorry for myself. If I just talked, spit out what I�m thinking, things would calm down. In the end, do I want them to?

But this girl with the many bracelets on her right arm is alone. No one reaches a hand for her. And I�m too self absorbed to lift her from darkness.