OCD, the Dude, and Me - By Lauren Roedy Vaughn
*QUICK JOURNAL #1* 9/6
First Day of School: Senior year
I should be getting ready for school right now, but I’m not because my mother has thrown off the flow of the morning. When she came in my room to bring me my new Adderall prescription, she tripped on the Romantic Era section of my library, books which are alphabetized, systematized, and laid out on the floor. It took all summer for me to get them exactly where I want them. It makes me happy just to look at them. When she tripped, she scattered the stacks out of order. I don’t think it took longer than five seconds before my body started shaking. I crunched myself into a fetal position and started to breathe as deeply as possible. Mom told me to calm down, like it’s no big deal to rebuild perfection. Austen’s works are now mixed with the Brontë sisters. I can’t find Browning. Wordsworth is under my bed, and Blake and Shelley have been kicked to a pile of dirty clothes near my dresser. I don’t have time to realphabetize them, and Mom is starting to lose her patience, pointing out I could choose to use my time doing that, instead of sitting here and typing out my angst. She’s wrong. Typing out my angst is exactly what I need to do if I’m going to get myself in any functional state for school. After all she says “It’s not a library” but rather a cluster of books I keep on the floor for people to trip over. According to her “libraries have shelves.” I told her shelves are not included in the technical definition of “library.” She told me to quit it with the semantics and get dressed. Whatever.
Another huge issue is that I wanted to finish gluing the pieces of charming postcards I cut up to decorate this year’s “me-moir” binder, my fourth writing collection. Each year’s binder—the sacred place I keep all my school essays, journals, personal me-moir entries, e-mails, etc. My writing is best served contained, away from the eyes of others, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have exquisite packaging. Obviously.
Since freshman year when my parents forced me to go to a “special school,” these binders are the only things that have made it bearable. Intense planning and a sea of supplies are required to build the perfect home for chronicling my life. It’s the best living history I’ve got. Every entry has its own color-coded sheet protector. Last week, I cut up six postcards, all with scenes of loving couplehood from the nineteenth century that weren’t a fit among the crowd taped on my headboard. Once it’s finished, they will fit together like an ornate puzzle. Which. Is. Awesome. Or would be, if this weren’t the first day of senior year and hundreds of pieces remain unglued.
At least my back-to-school outfit is staying the same. There is no question about that. I am wearing my black combat Chucks and have managed to untangle my XL burgundy T-shirt from the twisted pile on my bed, which is where my tees like to live. My black leggings and black beret with the tiny feather that stands straight up will complete my look of “rotted lonely pear in bowl”—a still life. Appropriate.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 9/10
Essay #1: My Biography
(This is what I turned in and got a C+ on after having to read it in front of the class because Ms. Harrison believes in “publishing” as an important part of the writing process. Make no mistake: I did not read the introduction or the conclusion aloud. Also, I have no interest in Ms. Harrison’s humiliating version of “publishing.” Clearly, I’ve got my own system for that.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Ms. Harrison, I liked the authors’ tea you planned where we all discussed the books we chose to read over the summer. I hope you could tell by my class comments that I liked Wuthering Heights. You have no idea how much my parents got in to reading that book with me. And, well, I got in to it, too. I dressed as Catherine. I have a lot of vintage dresses with puffy sleeves and petticoats (which generally stay in my closet) and a bunch of hats, from every era imaginable, and those were appropriate accents for this family read-aloud. (Very important note: don’t tell any of my classmates that we dressed up and read the book together. Please.) While my parents may have fantasized that their love lives were akin to Catherine and Heathcliff’s, let me assure you that the truth is no such thing. They were raised in the lap of luxury; they fell in love in college and have stayed in love; and they both make tons of money. Their hearts have never been torn asunder. I think this is a good place to transition into the meat of the essay you are looking for.
I am adopted. My parents’ names are Doug and Evelyn. I don’t mind being adopted. I have no idea who my biological parents are. Most people know immediately that I am adopted because I don’t look anything like my parents. (Neither of them has a wild nest of red hair or thunder thighs.) My dad is a doctor and my mom is a successful real estate agent. I think about how she is a real, estate agent because she sells big houses to rich people. I could never be a real estate agent because once my clients saw that I had to lock every outside door at least fifty times after a tour, they’d never call me again. LOL, but it’s true. And, a doctor? No way. No one’s life should be left in my hands. I can barely do math; I couldn’t possibly tackle problems related to the human body. Makes me dizzy just contemplating it. (Btw, Ms. Harrison, if you want our essays to include the vocabulary words you are teaching us, you are going to have to allow me to italicize them. I cannot just let a new word blend in with my old vocabulary. Thank you.)
I’ve attended Meadow Oaks School since the ninth grade. This school (as you know) is for high-potential students with learning disabilities, which is a euphemistic phrase for kids who don’t do well in school in some areas but whose IQs are still fine somehow. We’re all smart, but we have various “academic issues” that require some specific help from experts. You know the deal. What I like best about this school is that since almost everyone is Jewish, we get off a lot because of religious holidays. My family is no religion, so I don’t have to go to temple or church on the holidays. Usually on those days I read.
I don’t have any brothers and sisters or any pets. I have a housekeeper, Martha, and I’m very grateful for her because of my “materials management problems” as you call it. “Materials management” sounds more like a major in business college than a personal problem. You can just say I’m messy. I won’t be offended; I’m not blind to the truth. My own mother tells me my backpack “looks like a cyclone hit it.”
My mom recently redecorated our two-story house to “reflect her aesthetic” of warm-colored walls and brightly colored accent pieces, but she left my room alone because clutter, scratches on the hardwood floors, and hats hanging on the wall are my aesthetic. People who love garage sales or go antiquing would love my room. But, don’t misunderstand, nothing in there is for sale.
My parents bought me a used hybrid vehicle so I can drive myself to school in a responsible way, but I have to pay my own car insurance. I get paid to walk the neighbors’ dogs up in the hills where we live, south of the boulevard in the Valley, and that is how I have money to pay for my phone and fund my snow globe obsession. Generally, I get snow globes whenever I go on trips, and I like the ones that have scenic or gentle images that are frozen in time. I don’t know why. I just do.
Teacher comments: If you have aside comments, please make an appointment to speak with me. Include only ideas relevant to the topic.
*QUICK JOURNAL #2* 9/10
Just talking myself down
Writing “my biography” essay at the start of senior year sent me into somewhat of a tailspin. I survived the first days of school by wearing the right shoes and hats and by avoiding any vulnerable contact with the pretty and popular crowd (Heather, Sara, James, John, etc.), who make being at school look so easy. But once I had to start writing about myself (even though I like doing that under the right circumstances), I suffered a case of vertigo. I had to lie on my bed under my T-shirts for a bit.
Here is my current loop of obsessive thoughts: 1. It bothers me to think about all the upcoming school events that I will be alone for. 2. Just like every other year, I hate that Heather cuts in front of me in the lunch line and whips out her phone and starts talking so I can’t say anything. 3. I keep thinking about that day in PE last year, where I was the only person who couldn’t run the mile without taking breaks. My classmates, possessed of personal trainers, low heart rates, and taut physiques finished the run in like two seconds. By the second lap, I was gasping for air and so sweaty that they probably took bets on whether or not I’d die of a heart attack right before their eyes. I had hoped I would.
I have reordered the snow globes on my dresser about a hundred times. They are very calming. Nearly all of them depict life’s perfect moments, and when I give myself time to stare at them, they offer hope of a better world. Now they are in proper clusters. Farmhouses, landscapes, and historic monuments on the left, playful girls in the center, and couples in love on the right.
Next I’m going to try on all my hats and then stare at the postcards on my headboard to lose myself in a fantasy, where I convince myself that someday I will be somewhere other than right here.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 9/16
Essay #2: That’s Wonderful
(I love this essay even though Ms. Harrison did not because it was not organized and the tone was too informal, which Ms. Harrison is obsessed with. B- from Ms. Harrison but A+ from my aunt Joyce who read the essay and loved it.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
It was really wonderful to think about something wonderful. The sun was coming in through my bedroom window as I sat at my desk to write, so I put on my bright yellow Chucks and yellow sunhat and tried to let their happy color and the sun’s warmth sink into me in order to come up with a good topic. It worked! I have decided to write this essay about my aunt Joyce.
My aunt Joyce is forty-two years old, single, and has no kids. Now, before you get any prejudicial ideas about what she is like, let me tell you. My aunt Joyce is spectacular. She is beautiful: blond hair, thin thighs, smooth voice, perfect fingernails, great clothes—which she looks great in because she is a size two and a fashion designer. She gets me the most amazing hats and cool clothes, reflecting a time before sewing machines (lots of ribbons and laces), that we pull out of my closet and try on when we’re together. My mom has very short brown hair that highlights her bone structure but which does not lend itself to petticoats and flowery bonnets; however, sometimes she joins us for our costume parties anyway. Like the time we all tied ourselves into these elaborate corsets and pretended we lived the lives of the women I only read about. So fun. (However, I do worry those women were never able to take a deep breath while dressed. Terrible.) Besides classic and stylish clothing, Joyce has turned me on to some old music like Tom Petty, and I’ve turned her on to The Romantic Era, which is an awesome band (all six of the guys are so cute it’s unbelievable; you should check out their album. They have one song about Juliet . . . as in Romeo and . . . I think it’s right up your alley).
My aunt Joyce is not what your mind might jump to when you think single white female. Anyway, she and a friend did this WONDERFUL thing. They threw a shower for themselves! It was tight.
My aunt Joyce told me that over the course of her life she went to so many baby showers and wedding showers that she couldn’t keep track of them all. So one day, she and her friend Karen were talking about all the time, attention, and money they spent on going to their girlfriends’ showers and how that time, attention, and money was probably never going to be reciprocated because they were destined to be single and childless for the rest of their lives, and while that is a fine thing to be, they would never have the fun of registering for gifts and having people celebrate them in a way that was not about their age. So they decided to “f*** social constraints” as my aunt put it and throw themselves a shower. (Isn’t that wonderful? I mean, really.)
They both registered at Pottery Barn and Target. (Joyce told me that at Target they asked all kinds of questions about her registry, and she was forced to make it a bridal registry, and so she had to make up the name of her fiancé, and she gave the name of a super-famous movie star that she has had a mad crush on forever, but I won’t out that here because Aunt Joyce’s decade-long fantasy crush is her business, and she played all coy when the salesgirl asked if it “was the real so-and-so” and the salesgirl got all excited because my aunt wouldn’t deny the veracity of the claim, but how silly, because why would a movie star’s wife-to-be register at Target? Please.)
Anyway, the party was at my house, and the women in my family love a good garden party. My aunt put my hair up in a Gibson girl–style, and, for a change, I felt very sophisticated out in actual life. Mom bought out every florist shop in Los Angeles to decorate, and she ordered three large ice sculptures for the backyard. Stunning. The hummingbirds my mom knows and loves (she actually names them) were out in full force, and they were the background music of the day. We had afternoon tea, played charades and croquet, and watched Joyce and Karen open presents in the backyard garden of my house. Just writing about the day makes me feel light as air. (That feeling rarely happens to me.)
I may be single my whole life, but my aunt will help me cope with whatever I become. Aunt Joyce and her shower are wonderful!
Teacher comments: Don’t use profanity—ever—in these essays. You are lucky to have Aunt Joyce.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 10/5
Essay #3: Free Write
(What I, of course, do not turn in, and in fact, plan to hide immediately in my me-moir binder, lock checked multiple times.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
A “free-write essay” this early in the year? Really? Giving a free-write essay is a total cop-out for a teacher. Ms. Harrison has a poster on her wall that says, “Always give your best effort.” Apparently, her posters don’t apply to her. Very irritating. But I’m even more irritated that she made us write down on a piece of paper the name of one person who we would like to room with on the school trip to England. I wanted to write “FU” in really big letters on my slip and see if she got the point. Then I wanted to write “Jacob Kingston,” which is the truth, but if I wrote it instead of just thinking it, I’m sure Ms. Harrison would refer me to the school psychologist and then call my parents because I didn’t have the good sense to know that I couldn’t room with a boy. And then I’d want to scream: I’M BEING FACETIOUS, YOU IDIOTS. DON’T YOU GET IT?! NEVER IN MY LIFE WILL I EVER SLEEP WITH A BOY LIKE JACOB KINGSTON. I just spilled my soda all over my already messy but expensive antique desk! (I hid under a pile of fresh laundry for a minute to prevent a panic attack, which I did, good job. I’ve emerged and can write again.)
Instead, I just wrote on the slip: no one will want to room with me. And then I know I sound like a whiny victim, but it is true. Any name I might write on that slip of paper will be tantamount to disappointment. I am anathema to everyone in my class. On the drive home up into the hills of my landscaped neighborhood, I thought about how messy this whole situation is, and I had a big talk with myself, out loud, about how bad this trip is for me. There is no way I can conceive of doing all the things I like to do on trips to England while I’m with the kids in my class. I will be taunted right off the planet if I ask for a moment to go get a snow globe or some sepia-toned postcards or spout Shakespeare aloud while strolling through Stratford-upon-Avon dressed as Ophelia. OMG, but I’m starting to hyperventilate just writing that.
When I got home and told my parents that I absolutely don’t want to go on this trip, they said I have to, especially since they told the school that they would pay for a student who couldn’t afford to go. I told them to save the money and just pay for the other person and not me. No dice, they say. They want me to socialize, not have my head in a book the entire time. No one is going to want to room with me, Mom. Nonsense, she says in her everything-is-always-glorious way. She’s so clueless sometimes. During dinner, I wore my blue ski mask over my face in protest. Dad insisted I take it off because I was disrespecting my mother. I didn’t. I had to eat dinner in my room. Fine.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 10/7
Essay #4: The Class Trip
(How I really felt but did not turn in for fear that I would have to read it in front of the class. I did not make an appointment to tell Ms. Harrison my thoughts. These are my thoughts, just for me.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
I have been to England before, and I have zero interest in going again with my school because I have no friends and spending a week away from home where no one but tour guides and teachers will talk to me (occasionally) is not my idea of fun. Even though I know my father will give me Xanax to deal with the twelve-hour flight, “better living through chemistry,” he always jokes, there aren’t enough of those pills to stop my mind from obsessively repeating magical chants, hoping I hit on just the right combination of words to render me totally invisible while Sara and Heather sit huddled in the back of the tour bus whispering about how glad they are that they don’t have my fat ass and red hair. Yeah, well they should be glad. My body is Rubenesque while the current fashion is Toothpick-esque, and centuries of scientific research have met their match with my hair. The Hubble telescope floats around in space, but not one product on the market is able to straighten and/or soften my hair. Go flippin’ figure.
I would love to see Stonehenge and Bath and Stratford-upon-Avon. Those are places where a love of literature is acceptable because so many great authors wrote there that you still feel all their words floating in the air. I’ve only been to one place in the United States where I could feel words in the air and that was Gettysburg, and the words I felt were heavier and pricklier than the ones blanketing Stratford-upon-Avon. So that’s really why I would want to go back to England. Maybe the invisible language would be enough to make me forget the thirty people in my senior class who I would be traveling with.
But not enough to forget about Jacob. He would be there, of course. He and Keira would both be there. I wish he were mean or something. But he isn’t. I love him. Writing those words makes me hot. Admitting it makes me hot, makes me hotter. Am boiling as I type. May spontaneously combust. And even though I somehow wrote those three sizzling words seemingly against my will, I would deny it even if I were being held in Guantanamo Bay and admitting my love for him were the only thing that would release me. I’d rather stay imprisoned than have anyone know how much I love Jacob. I am just not going on the school trip.
*SECRET ME-MOIR ENTRY* 10/8
Secret #2 (#1 is that I love Jacob Kingston)
Assignment given by me for my eyes only
I think about all the girls in my class and honestly, I’d love to have any one of them write my name down on that slip of paper. Even the really mean ones. I wish I could hate them and say I would never want to be seen with any of them or that I would never, not in a million years, ever want to share a room with them on the school trip. But it’s not true. I’d love for just one of them (even the ice queen, Heather) to be willing to share a hotel room with me for just one week. But they don’t. In a movie I would get to have psycho powers, and after they spilled a bucket of blood on me at the prom, I would have my revenge through Satan’s hellish magic. But in real life I don’t even hate them. I just hate me.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 10/9
Essay #4: The Class Trip
(What I did turn in along with a note begging Ms. Harrison not to make me read it aloud. I got a C+. I still had to read it aloud because she thought other students might want to hear about my England experiences. She was wrong. They used the time to yawn, roll their eyes, and doodle. Jacob paid attention. When I read the part about the horrible weather, Heather blurted out that global warming wasn’t real and if I had the courage, I would have laughed in her face.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
It is very exciting that the class trip is to England this year; although, we aren’t going until the beginning of March so I’m not sure why we are discussing this right now. However, thank God we aren’t going in November, the most wildly unpredictable weather month in England since the new millennium, probably due to global warming. March should be lovely.
London is a wonderful city with more history and rich ambience than the strip-malled, strip-clubbed, fenced in dog-parked, crisscrossing freewayed city of Los Angeles could ever hope for. I have been to England five times. My whole family goes when my father has to give lectures about new medical procedures. While my dad works, my mom and I go to museums (I love the Tate Modern), and we take the train out of the city and into Bath and Stratford-upon-Avon. In Bath, I always think about Jane Austen and how great a character Elizabeth Bennet is. I own a bonnet that my aunt bought me in a vintage shop in England that is exactly what I think Elizabeth would have worn at one of the parties where she found herself face-to-face with Mr. Darcy. You can tell she loves Mr. Darcy right away, but she is so independent and fiery that there is no way she is going to let him know. But unlike life, which is why it’s great to read books, everything works out for the two of them in the end.
Before the trip, we find out what Shakespeare play is being performed in Stratford, and then my mom and I read it on the flight over. I never have any idea what Shakespeare is talking about at first. But, I read the passages slowly, multiple times, and break them down into small bits (a helpful strategy for managing many of life’s hard tasks, btw) and then wait for the meaning to rise in me, kind of like a burp. That technique is worth a try for anyone interested in really getting all the cool stuff that Shakespeare has to say. Now I can finish any quote my mom tries to throw at me. I can do this with the Brontë sisters, too. I am sure this information is about as thrilling and cool as having a snow globe obsession.
We go shopping at Harrods, and my mom buys me new shoes because London gets the newer styles before Los Angeles does. She buys stilettos because they are for people who have good legs. I don’t get those. Chuck Taylors are much better for a person like me. I have a closet full, a pair for every occasion. London is a very beautiful city and our class is lucky that this is where we are going. I’m sure my parents will make me go on this trip.
Teacher comments: How exciting you’ve been to England five times. Please avoid tangential comments. I’m glad you will go on the trip.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/2
Technically Essay #3 but turned in after #4 Free Write
(What I did finally turn in, but really late, though, because I forgot about it. I got a D. I would hardly call this assignment “free.”)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
On Halloween, while most of my classmates dressed as monsters, vampires, and ghouls (a bunch of bloody messes), I am sure you are the only person who got that I came as Elizabeth Barrett Browning. My hair falls naturally into tendrils, so that didn’t require much effort, and my aunt designed the corseted dress I wore. She gave it kind of a modern flair by having the skirt lay flatter than the 1800s called for, but that was so I didn’t look too freakish at school. (But why should I have cared? James just splashed himself with fake blood and called that a costume. So gross. I have no idea what he was going for.) Also, my father runs around our house forever saying to my mom and me, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” You see, my costume had layers of personal meaning. So, when James mauled me and said, “Whoa, that dress is incredible and so weird at the same time,” he got fake blood all over my aunt’s hard work. Also, after that, people thought I was the bride of Frankenstein. Not an image I want following me throughout the year. It was horrible. I’d like to end this essay with a plea. PLEA-se, let’s not have any more dress-up days at school. Thank you.
Disappointing teacher comments: This is not an academic essay. It is a rant.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/11
Essay #5: My Worst Day
(What I don’t turn in, but what is, indeed my second worst day ever.)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
First off, Ms. Harrison, I don’t know how you came up with this essay topic, but I fear it is from the parent meeting you had on Friday that turned into the absolute worst day of my life. So maybe this essay title is a tribute to me and, in which case, you are a total bitch for using my pathetic life for your purposes so you don’t have to think of a really good essay subject like “Your Ideal Lover” or “Your Life After Plastic Surgery” or something really juicy like that.
My nearly worst day ever, not to be repeated, was the family night at school where Ms. Harrison and the principal gave a talk about the school trip to London. Everyone was there. Everyone. Even Jacob Kingston and that is why this day was really, really nearly the worst day of my life. The meeting started off fine with Ms. Harrison talking about all the things we would be doing on the trip (Big Ben, the Tate Modern, Westminster Abbey, etc.). And then Heather Hane’s mom, who is a hateful cow, asked Ms. Harrison how the roommates for London would be determined. (I roomed with Heather on last year’s trip to Canada.) Ms. Harrison explained that process to Heather’s mom about how the kids wrote down who they wanted to room with and she would take that under advisement, but then, ultimately, she would make the final decision about who would room with whom since she’s been coordinating the junior and senior trips for years now. This conversation followed, which I have since emblazoned in my memory, but not in any glorious way as the definition implies.
Heather’s mom: Well, last year my daughter did not get to room with who she wanted to, and it was quite uncomfortable and really ruined the trip for her.
Ms. Harrison: I’m sorry to hear that, but we don’t spend that much time in the rooms, and I think everyone is capable of getting along with his or her roommates, whoever they will be, for one short week.
Heather’s mom: I’m just saying that last year, Heather was pulled aside and asked if she would room with someone who she really didn’t want to room with and she did it, even though she didn’t want to, because she is a good person, and I just think that she served her time, and this year she should be able to room with someone who she wants to room with.
Ms. Harrison: You know, Mrs. Hane, I think we are going to have to talk about this at a different time.
Heather’s mom: We pay a lot of money for these trips, and I just don’t want my daughter to be miserable again this year.
My dad: Well, Mrs. Hane, last year I think my family paid for your daughter to go on the trip because you claimed financial hardship! So . . .
Principal: Dr. Levine, I think that is uncalled for . . .
Yeah, the principal stepped in to yell at my dad, but didn’t once step in to stop Mrs. Hane from ruining my life right then and there. I melted inside every time Mrs. Hane opened her mouth because the crowd was listening to her so intently. Even Sara, who had been crouched in the corner with a migraine, stood up to get every word of Ms. Hane’s complaint. I felt sorry for Ms. Harrison because I knew she was just trying to do her best, but most of all I felt sorry for me because I just wanted to die.
I didn’t know that Ms. Harrison had to beg Heather to room with me last year, and I didn’t know I had ruined her trip. I brought books and stayed quiet on purpose and didn’t talk to her unless she talked to me. I didn’t undress in front of her, so she didn’t see my fat, ugly body and get embarrassed. I did everything I could, but obviously, that didn’t do anything. I sat in the auditorium and mustered all the strength I had not to cry. But it wasn’t enough. When the meeting ended my father went to talk to Ms. Harrison, and I ran to the car and almost tripped right over Jacob who had to be able to see that I was crying. My furry black hat fell off my head, and I forced my dad to go back for it while I obsessively patted my head in the car because at that moment I just felt like my hat needed to be there, and I was freaking out. Jacob walked passed my car as I was smacking my head, and he looked at me like I was nutcase. Which, of course, is right on.
I am going to pretend like I hate Jacob Kingston instead of loving him (which will be a monumental task because he is built like the statue of David) so that every time I see him from now on I am not so humiliated. I wish he could melt and go away.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/12
Essay #5: My Worst Day
(What I do hand in, and thank God Ms. Harrison does not make me read this aloud, but she does want me to meet with the school psychologist. C+)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
My worst day was the day I was born. My parents are not what made it the worst day. My parents are wonderful. Anyway, as you know, I wasn’t even born to my parents, which is really easy for anyone to see because I look nothing like them. My parents are very good looking. My parents adopted me from someone who I am sure looks just like me and was having a horrible life and just couldn’t bear the thought of making it worse by having to raise a child while having a horrible life.
That day of my birth was my worst day because I was born on the wrong planet, in the wrong body, for no real good purpose that I can ascertain. (Thank you for teaching me that word. One thing I like about life on this planet is all the great words I get to learn in your class.) I’m sure on other planets life is not as ridiculous as it is here. In fact, I imagine that on other planets, people aren’t actually in bodies so it saves a lot of hassles. That day I was born marked the stressful beginning of a very stressful life.
Teacher comments: Sometimes we all wish we were never born; your whole life won’t be like high school.
*CLASS ASSIGNMENT* 11/16
Essay #6: Reflecting on My College Applications
(For this very honest assessment: C. What does this lady want from me?)
Danielle Levine
English 12
Ms. Harrison
Period 4
Reflecting on the college application process is like trying to navigate your way through a hurricane. (I hope you like my simile.) I applied to three University of California schools and three state of California schools. I really only had to complete two applications online, one for the UCs and one for the states. This was not as simple as you might think.
My mom sat with me as I did the applications because, like she said, it felt like you needed a master’s degree in form-filling-out to do it. It was an OCD person’s nightmare. I needed my mom because I kept checking every question and answer four times. If I didn’t check each question four times and say the question and my answer out loud twice, then I couldn’t move on. My mom yelled at me to stop doing that. I couldn’t. Then, I repeatedly asked her how I was going to pack up all the things in my room and fit them in a dorm room. I told her I have to have my own room because I can’t possibly share decorating space with someone. I started worrying that my postcards would get bent in the move. I also needed to know, right then, the exact dimensions of a dorm room, so I started measuring my furniture. She really lost it at that point.
I yelled at my mom for not hiring someone to do the applications for me like a lot of other kids in my class did. I put on my blue conductor hat and my black combat Chucks to gain some control.
My mom made me take a double dose of Adderall when all the yelling started, and I think that was a terrible thing for her to make me do. You shouldn’t mess with your meds like that, and we didn’t even check with my dad first before doing that because he was giving a lecture out of state, and I told my mom that she was giving me Munchausen syndrome by proxy because of these stupid applications. Then she told me I was being ridiculous because my Adderall dosage isn’t that high, and she was trying to help me not hurt me. Then she got upset that my father tells me all about the weird conditions that people can get because I remember the things he says but apply the knowledge at the wrong time. I hope you are coming to understand what a pain this process was.
Because my mom will not listen to me complain about how lucky the other kids in my class are, I’m going to tell you. The kids who get college counselors to do their applications are soooooooo lucky. Sara is the luckiest because her mom and a counselor applied to all her schools, and she doesn’t even know where she applied, and she said it’s going to be like Christmas for her when she finds out. I wish it were going to be like Christmas for me, too, but it won’t be because I’m just so anxious about whether or not I even did the applications correctly that I don’t care where I get accepted. Also, I’m taking the SATs again soon and the thought of that gives me hives. (Now I have ADD, OCD, Munchausen syndrome by proxy, and eventually, hives.)
I’m so worried that when I take the SATs again, I will do what I did on my Algebra II test last week. I saw question #1 and thought “What if I just stare at this page for the whole test?” “What if I just think about staring at this test the whole time while I’m staring at this test the whole time?” “What would happen if I stared at this test the whole time?” “How would someone intervene?” “Would they intervene?” “What will the score that I get on this test really mean?” “Why does this test matter when it just gets thrown away and turns into garbage?” “How come it means something now but doesn’t have any meaning in a month after the grades are posted and it does become garbage?” “Why did we make up this system?” “Who did make up this system?” “Why can’t I stop coming up with questions in my mind?” Anyway, you get the point.
Teacher comments: Stay calm. If you are going to be up for the challenges that college present, you have to be up for the challenges that filling out the applications present. Avoiding those challenges is not a good idea.