masooooochism

it's so, so stupid. i keep going back. and i hate it there! well, maybe not hate. but i can't stand it. the cut throat girls who walk around with their stupid handbags, differentiated from each other only by color or size or where the leather's imported from. where they're imported from, everyone is the same brand of dusty old money or desperate wannabes and either way they are ALL wannabes, trying to be their older sister or the son their father always always wanted or even just trying to be the person that will land a date for sadie hawkins without too much effort. FUCK IT! you treat me like i'm different because i go to an "eastern boarding school" you consider boston the fucking mecca of intellectualism but really, it's not! who are we kidding, this school has pretty much shot my joie de vivre in the eye sockets and yet i still keep stumbling forward like that diploma, that goddamn calligraphied piece of embossed paper, held in one hand while i stick an unlit cigar between my lips in a picture that'll go on my facebook profile for a week or so before i decide i look like a complete wannabe and have, in fact, turned into everyone i have been trying so desparately not to be and in a sense i've become just a desparate, the one fish swimming lamely against the tide, almost as lame as the metaphor, almost as lame as the fact that i am a masochistic idiot for going back there and letting the school feel, letting myself feel, that the school defines me. that the school decides who i am, where i'll go, what i'm worth.