Resipiscence

I'm not sure what it was, but the last few days have been kind of jarring. I did the whole Saturday thing, then pulled two all-nighters in a row, one for my history project (which in all fairness should have been finished long before Sunday night, but what can I say, I'm lazy and we all know it) and one for my English essay (which, frankly, I completely forgot about). Add to that the semi-gimp leg I've been dragging around since Saturday, and you have Whiny!Liadan, who is getting beat up by SelfCastigating!Liadan, both of whom are soundly ignored by Senioritis!Liadan.

I've been walking into math class, while we're starting a trigonometry unit that makes about much sense as cuneiform to me, fully intending to spend the entire class alternating between a half-doze and a spaced-out ceiling gaze. Which is why, although my grade has miraculously been dragged kicking and screaming up to an 81, it probably isn't going to be continuing the small upward jerk. To be honest, I really just can't handle math right now. It's mildly frustrating at the best of times, and at the worst of times, I've been known to cry and throw my book across the room. I know everyone except computer types says they hate math, but I don't think very many approach the same level of gut-twisting, brow-furrowing, teeth-grinding loathing I regard it with.

Tangent (no pun intended) accomplished, Monday really wasn't too bad. Monday night was a bit more testing, because I had to write my essay and to put it mildly, I was just not feeling the Spark. I wasn't even feeling the Slight Muscular Spasm. The writerly portion of my brain might as well have been made of Frosted Mini-Wheats for all the good it was doing me. (In fact, just from looking at that comparison, right there, I'm not so sure my writerly brain bits aren't still malfunctioning. I don't even like breakfast cereal.)

Today, though, today was a bit less fun. I had to drag myself out of bed earlier than usual to print out the essay. And as I've oft said before, there has to be a better way to start the day besides mornings. When I have a choice, my day doesn't start until noon and doesn't end until what is technically morning.

When I got to English, I discovered that the essay I knew for FREAKING SURE I had printed out, and for which I had witnesses to vouch for the production, was not in my notebook. I had a small concentrated meltdown at my desk before imploring my teacher to have mercy on me. No such luck. I did win a "before the end of the day" exception before class ended. I think she may have felt sorry for me. (I found it later in my AP Gov't notebook, and tossed it on her desk later.)

It all pretty much hit the fan in AP Government.

Being as this is a Government class, we're doing a study of the Supreme Court and the Constitutional amendments and such. Today was privacy rights. Griswold v. Connecticut and Roe v. Wade passed without too much comment. then we got to sodomy laws.

As it turns out, Mr. Wilson, my teacher for three classes and debate coach, and a man I respect very highly as a person, a teacher, and a Christian, isn't exactly what one might call "tolerant" of homosexuality.

It was all the usual cliches. They're like alcoholics, they need to stop, if we allow that behavior we'll soon be extending the line to pedophiles and such, gays spread AIDS, and so on. The APA isn't a credible source of information on sexual orientation, but Exodus International is. And God doesn't like it. At all. And it was all in the same well-reasoned tone of voice he uses for everything else. It wasn't gay-bashing per se, he did throw in some lines about loving gays-- actually, he never used the word "gay," he only used the term "homosexual." The opposite of "homosexual" was "Christian." Homosexuality is a lifestyle, a preference, never an orientation. It's something chosen, and therefore changeable.

Good grief, he even brought up Sodom and Gomorrah.

Bridget actually did most of the talking. I didn't trust myself for more than the occasional interjected phrase, because I was shaking too hard to speak very well. Not with anger, I wasn't about to fly into a murderous rage or anything like that.

To be completely honest, for once, because I'm tired of coding these entries, I was terrified. I was afraid that I might let something slip, and then someone in authority, with control over my grades, access to the school administrators, and worse, access to my parents, would be able to connect the dots. And i'm sure some of that fear showed, in my expression, probably in my voice too, because in the few minutes between classes when I stay where I am, because my next class is in the same room with the same teacher who's just spent the better part of an hour explaining without knowing it why I can't possibly be a real Christian because the Spirit hasn't yet convicted me of my "heinous" sin of being bisexual, he said something that makes me wonder if he Knows now.

Sits back, looks thoughtful. "The question is, what should I, as a Christian parent, do if my son comes to me and tells me he's chosen that lifestyle--"

"If he comes to you and tells you that he has a homosexual orientation." Terse. Quiet.

Nod. "... what should I do, then."

"I don't know." Pause. "Well, we know what some Christian parents do."

"Right." Silence.

Short, slightly awkward discussion on a couple of New Testament passages before the rest of the class started filing in.

I still don't know how I got through the next class. Perhaps I'm just really good at faking it by now.

I got lunch before coming back to campus and finding a gaggle of the In Crowd incongruously sitting in my favorite lunch spot. The conversation wandered, and I found out that I'm a freak for (a) being able to stomach Taco Bell and (b) disliking tampons. Well, dears, if you think that's what makes me different, you've got another think coming. After lunch, I just left and came home. Not skipping classes, since all I've got after fifth period on Tuesdays and Thursdays is study halls.

I came home and sat around brooding for a while in my own inimitable way. Went to play practice, only to find crew didn't have to be there, but I didn't mind because just driving somewhere with the windows down and the air roaring by was therapeutic.

I came up with something. When I'm stressed out, angry or afraid or depressed about something, I can't sing. My voice comes out mangled if I try, and usually I don't even want to anyway. It's a strange phenomenon. It probably has a lot to do with being distracted, just having the running marquee of thoughts zipping through my mind. I ramble mentally when I'm stressed. I get some of my better ideas when I'm stressed out, but I can never apply them to paper until after the mood passes.

I kind of blew up at the dinner table tonight. As usual, my dad came to dinner with a ranta bout whatever was on the news, and I disagreed with some of his points. Or I tried, anyway. I couldn't actually say anything because when I tried to, he just steamrollered over me by talking louder, and if I waited until he stopped to take a breath, mom jumped in with the usual "You're such a contrarian, why do you always have to disagree, don't you ever think we're right, you just like to argue" spiel, until I started yelling and slamming dishes around and finally just stomped back to my sanctuary, closed the door, and cranked up the music.

I really just need to get out of here. I need to start college, pretty much... now.

So yes, now we all know what the "truth hurts" entry was about, and yes, now we all know what all the passcoded entries were about. And yes, it's an issue of considerable importance to me, even when-- especially when-- I get my little mustard seed of faith pretty much stomped into the dirt over it.

Then again, seeds grow in dirt.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere.

Labels: family, school, Teh Gay