When everybody turns eighteen...

...they all leave the seventeen-year-olds behind.

It's been almost a week since I last updated this blog, and it's been almost a week since I went to school with a smile on my face. So far, I've been deprived of sleep, got cranky, got passed around, got desparately desparate, got stepped on, got stabbed in the back...

...basically, I'm still in a bad mood. I thought, even, that by Friday (which was the thirteenth) it would turn around for the better; surprisingly I held that belief in what was supposedly a very unlucky day. And indeed, the moment Saturday kicked in somebody crossed the line and I slept with more than I wanted to bring.

And indeed, the moment I said to Sir Patrick during our twice-this-term Saturday class, that I expect to be "shocked, isolated, and eventually depressed", it came true. All the sarcasm that I never launched before came out of my two fingers, and made quotes in the air.

The energy level got restored, anyway, so I ended up enjoying everything, although partially. But I went home, slumped on a bed, got deprived of a chance to rest (because of all the readings and the damned order that we turn off the PC at 18.00 sharp because they want me to sleep rather than, in my view, finish college), and thought that this is one of those days when everything, and everybody in it, is against me.

So I was right when I thought way back that Saturday the fourteenth is waaay unluckier than the day before.

Call me shallow, but somehow I've been affected very quickly today. I know, somehow Friday night brought back painful memories of those damned we-are-always-correct high school students that made a living out of bullying me, but it was way more than that. Yes, I am insecure, but there's something I wanted to prove to myself; that I can do things on my own. And even if my parents would see me awake at the time I'm supposed to be waken up, working on stuff that I would be proud of later - I don't need sleep anyway, it's what I'm supposed to be - nobody can do anything about it.

The problem with being a seventeen-year-old is, everybody thinks you're younger than everybody else, and equally as incapable.

What they don't know is, we seventeen-year-olds can do much more, much longer. When the eighteen-year-olds decide to die, we take the void.

I apologize for those who would be unjustly affected.

But shallow? Call me intelligent.

And your responses...

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