Can’t Escape the Teen Drama

I’m constantly reminded that my zits are the least of my worries. They’re just the most consistent of my worries. I know it’s not in their nature to stick around for long, but man they never prick me in the heart or give me that feeling of a sick stomach. What am I yapping about? Maggie.

No. Maggie is good. We’re as good as we could be, I guess. Other than the fact that we’re over 1,700 miles away from each other. But that’s all we’ve ever known, so it is what it is. I’ve been using that phrase a lot lately: It is what it is. Anyway, she sent me a text today at school, wanting to know if I could call her. My heart dropped. Sank. Farted. So, I cut out of the building at lunch, and went to my car to “get something.”

I called her, and she was obviously upset. At first she played it off like everything was fine, and she just wanted to hear my voice, but then…she started crying. My first response was to get pissed off, and I don’t know where that came from. I could literally feel a new batch of zits start baking under the surface. After my face caught on fire, I started to tear up, because she couldn’t get anything out.

Apparently this friggin’ d-hole that she used to go out with, has been harassing her mercilessly about me, calling me her Internet boyfriend, and all kinds of other stuff, because he suggested they should go to prom together and she said no, that she wasn’t going unless I came to town. It’s his fault I wrote that run-on sentence, too! She’s so sweet. She tries hard to be kind to everyone. So, I’m pissed. I feel like this is when I’m supposed to be there. Be her friend. And punch that bag of vinegar and water right in his ball-less sack.

Apparently, he’s gone all EMO since they broke up, and he’s a year older than us, so he thinks he’s the one who put the skinny back in jeans. I can kinda smile, just imagining the crap he’ll get next year in college. We had a laugh about that, but it doesn’t really make things better.

No football today, just lifting. Coaches are at a clinic. I’m late, so I’m gonna run.