My entry for September 11th last year is one of the best ones I think I've written. I don't think I could outdo it, really. So, go read that one first...
It is cloudy and the temperature seems kind of moody. It's hard to tell if it will rain. There's something about this weather that makes me think of endless, depressing classrooms: monarch butterfly cocoons all the way up through dashing off last minute response papers for Oedipus Rex.
I'm trying to think up something completely unrelated to school, some image to concentrate on, some sensation to feel that differs from faulty ventilation systems and the prickling auras of moronic cheerleaders. Now, I am thinking about baseball games and Burger King cheeseburgers. The old kind of cheeseburgers with the extra grease, not the burned-up kinds they make now.
I would love to eat a greasy Burger King cheeseburger and go to a baseball game.
A few days ago, some jackass decided to post in my guestbook and advise me to reconsider the message of one of my entries. He or she signed him or herself as "Mentor." That just pisses me off. I have NO idea who this person is. The message itself was rather patronizing, and while I'd gladly defer to that tone coming from a certain few people -- a few very wise individuals I happen to greatly respect -- I don't know who this "Mentor" person is. He or she did not leave any identifying information.
It seems to me that *I* should be allowed to choose those people in my life whom I would consider mentors, teachers, counselors, and advisors. To consider oneself a "mentor" or another person without that person's expressed consent is, to me, narcissistic to a sickening degree.
Not only that, but whomever it was that was posting, seemed to miss most of the meaning behind what I was saying.
At the moment, there are no vacancies open for "mentors." Especially ones who can't seem to grasp what I'm talking about. Please consider submitting your résumé elsewhere.
Gonna go eat something.
~Helena*