The Nine Faces of Dave
i'll worry about my own problems
It's 1:00 A.M. Friday morning, and it's a damn good thing I
don't have school tomorrow. I should have gone to bed two
hours ago, but this strange late-night force has seized me,
motivating me to stay awake and ponder things.
School was pretty uneventful, rehearsal was basically a huge
waste of time, and, as always, I kept falling asleep in my
computer science class. I don't know why that happens. The
combination of the professor being rather soft-spoken, white
noise from the projector's fan, and my sleep deprivation is
probably what knocks me out.
In preparation for spring break, I rented four movies from
the video store: "Falling Down," "Total Recall," "Tron," and
"Jacob's Ladder" were my selections. With any luck, they'll
be worth the eight bucks.
Today, at the end of school, I was going to attempt to get a
date to the prom. The odds of success weren't looking very
good, but I figured I had to try. Right when my opportunity
came, however, I got nervous, hesitated a little, and wound
up missing my chance. I had fucked up again. But I decided
to try again another time, after spring break at the latest.
But the real fun came later in the day.
This evening, my mother kept telling me that I should go to
the prom. She was going so far as to offer to cover the tux
rental and part of the other expenses. Then she kept making
suggestions about who I could take to the prom. It's almost
as though my mother refuses to admit that her son, for lack
of a better description, is something of a loser.
The thing is, worrying about stuff like that is my job, not
my mother's. I'm the one who's affected by it, therefore I
should be the one to deal with it. It almost seems like she
doesn't actually care about my feelings concerning the prom,
but just doesn't want to be the mother of a guy who couldn't
get a date to his senior prom. I shouldn't be saying things
like that, but that's really how it feels.
Maybe I'll avoid going, just out of spite.
This is Dave, signing off.