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04.21.2004 - 8:50 p.m.

Wednesday

One of my worst memories from my entire childhood is the time I Lied About My Report Card. At one point in grade school, I had abysmal grades. Mind you, I never went on to have a stellar scholastic career, but this particular time was an absolutely brutal collection of D's and F's.

(I feel compelled to make note of the fact that this was because of my obstinate refusal to do homework. I was a lazy fucker from the get-go.)

I put it off for as long as I could, lying to my mother that my card had been delayed (because they didn't have...enough gold stars for me?). Until she finally got fed up, and drove with me to the school to find out what the hey was going on.

I sat in that car, while she was in the school. I sat there knowing how screwed I was, and so deeply ashamed of this position I had put her in - her believing me, marching in there to demand whatever administrative fuckup had kept my report card from being delivered be fixed, STAT.

I will tell you right now, that is the only time I have prayed in my entire life. I sat there and mentally said, over and over, please god, please god, please god. I wanted that deus ex machina to whip in and save the day BIG TIME.

Perhaps not surprisingly, no supernatural force came to my rescue, and I will never, ever forget my mother's face as she walked back to the car. Her face, bright red with emotion (I inherited that, thank you VERY much). I don't even remember what she said, when she got in the car. I don't remember any of that. Just the overwhelming sense of shame, and of feeling - in trouble.

I used to think, as a kid, how very glad I would be to grow up and never have to feel in trouble again.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Ha.

Oh, so the thing is? It just gets WORSE when you're older.

You don't get to be a kid any more. You don't get to sit in a car and pretend to pray. It's just you, and your colossal fucktardedness.

I wrote an email this morning that angrily accused someone of reveling in my shortcomings. After I hit 'send', on my snitty little missive, I sat back for a moment and thought about the things this person criticizes me for.

They're all true. Maybe I don't deserve to get crapped on for them, but they're true.

That feeling. Of being in trouble. It's all the stronger when you aim that shattered, red-faced gaze at yourself.

I'm sorry, Mom.

And I'm sorry, Linda. I'm sorry I haven't tried harder.


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9 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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