Egg Drop Soup
<< 11:10 p.m. - Sunday, Mar. 02, 2003 >>
I can�t help but feel anger at Mr. Gordin. I can�t help but feel entirely a victim to his words. I�m digging up recent letters he wrote to my mother and letting them tear through me. My fault? His? Right now, I want to be the martyr, all the while knowing this all is because of my stubbornness. I refuse to be told what to do by adults. I won�t let myself be pushed around by someone who should know better.

And, no, I�m not sad. I�m just feeling reflective. I�m going to quit the IB program. There are too many solid lines and too many closed doors that I can never hope to break or open. I tried, believe me. All I got in return was a middle-aged man with absolutely no self-confidence screaming at me. I don�t want his guilt, I told him that. The hopes of another pinned to my shoulders have never motivated me. I�ll walk even slower and kick up dust behind me. I�d say �Screw you.� In the end I�m the one that�s in trouble.

I just don�t want to be the one left crying. The one who always needs tending by that friend who will put herself at risk just to hold you and tell you it�s going to be alright. Effervescent Girl keeps me sane. For that I brought egg drop soup.