Like when you look in the mirror in the morning and you see the same dull face stare back. Or you go into the kitchen and you hear your dad’s same old voice. Or you walk down the hall at school with your so-called-friends, talking about the same old stuff. Or you go from boring class to even more boring class, predicting with one-hundred-percent accuracy what’s going to happen next. Like, Mr. Bartell is going to tell Rudy Lantz to put his penknife away. Rudy’s going to ignore him. Mr. Bartell’s going to say it again. Rudy’s going to say, “Make me,” and Mr. Bartell is going to march him down to see Mrs. Lofts. And you’re thinking, like, so, this is it? My big excitement for the day is watching Rudy Lantz butt heads with Mr. Bartell? Maybe you don’t get like that. It’s probably just me. That’s how I’ve been feeling this week. I’m lying on my bed with my headphones on. I’m listening to The Wallflowers. Not even the jars of nature on my bookshelf can cheer me up.
