Call me Brutus

"Cassius, be not deceived: if I have veiled my look, I turn the
trouble of my countenance merely upon myself. Vex?d I am of late with
passions of some difference, coneceptions only proper to myself, which
give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors; But let not therefore my good
friends be grieved (Among which number, Cassius, be you one) nor
construe any further my neglect than that poor Brutus, with himself at
war, forgets the shows of love to other men."
- Brutus, Act I Scene II of The Tragedy of Julius Caesar

Isn't it amazing how one can look back close to 400 years and see
somebody saying the exact same thing you're feeling. How is it that I
ended up trapped in a small southern town? I can't describe the
feelings of helplessness here. People like Brandon are great, but
they're still southern. On the other hand, I've met a girl. She has
become my escape. She's so much like me it's scary. She, just like I,
feels strangled in the net of education we call "high school." It's
weird because she actually understands me. I'm not going to mention
names, but if she reads this she'll probably know it's her. I read
something she wrote recently. It was about having no one to understand
her. Well, I understand you. I know exactly what you're going through.
And just because I laugh at you because you like to do trig for fun or
things like that, I get you. I may not be as good at math as you *wink*
but I get you. But now that I've found someone I get, does it go any
further? Everytime I hear ****'s name I feel odd, maybe like I'm at war
with myself. Do I want to risk the friendship? Should I just sit here
and hope it passes? Well, I've sat here for other people and it's
passed. But what's scarier is: I don't know if she knows she gets me.
And I don't know if she knows I get her. Then I see that she has
someone else who she knows understands her and I'm jealous. People tell
me I'm too obvious sometimes. Maybe I'll be obvious enough to let her
know I understand her and want to understand her more.
The teenage years are pure heck. I've discovered that. With a million
wars raging between each other, I'd have to agree with Vonnegut. War is
suicide. When you're fighting a million battles from a hundred
different directions, things go haywire. It's like trying to plug 4
things into one electrical outlet. You can buy a multi-plug (or
whatever those things are called...) but you still eventually run out
of sockets. And you also risk a power overload. But how do I know which
to unplug? That's the problem.

Well, that's enough rambling for today. I'll probably be back
soon...

Everymorning I wake up and ask myself, "Et tu, Brut??"