So it’s wintertime in northwestern Washington, which means it might be September, December, or March. Alright, really, I think it’s January 7th and my name is Sonya and my hair is messy and I would appreciate it if you treat me like an expendable robot. Syke. That’s the new thing to do. You say something you don’t really wish then say syke after it. It’s supposed to make you feel like you are all powerful-knowing-and-able to control another person’s perception of who you are versus who you say you are – or something like that. That’s what my friend David says anyways.

       David is great, and not with a capital g, because he said we shouldn’t capitalize great. It’s ‘great’ enough without the extra emphasis. We also concluded that exclamation points are excessive and ill-equipped to express excitement; however, an exclamation point in a set of parentheses fits the human condition of surprised-unbelievable-oh-my-god-everything-always-changes-ness-and-i-don’t-know-how-to-respond more suitably.

             See: (!)

             “Aren’t you tired of this school thing yet?”
             “I don’t think so, Mrs. Zareba is pretty cool, man”
            (I hate when I say ‘man’ or ‘dude’ at the end of a sentence. It’s another reduction of conversation that makes me feel like I am too boring to figure out another way to say something.)
             “Yeah, maybe, I guess, she’s pretty awesome, woman”

      David is always doing things like that. I’ll be picking my nose and look up across the classroom and he’ll be picking his nose too, but more dramatically, like falling out of his seat, grunting. I hate and love him for it. I guess I should say I truly love him for it and pretend to hate him for it.

       When you say ‘I hate you’ to someone it’s usually after they have ruined or perfectly predicted your life. I know this because both of these things seemed to have happened to me. At least it felt like I was being ruined at the time. And predictions do only last so long.


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