I did something interesting today. It was spontaneous and completely unprecedented. In fact, if it had not been for Katie’s driving misfortune, then it probably never would have happened. Seeing as Katie needed a ride from school most of this week, I was more than happy to oblige. Today, though, her destination was not home, but our old trusty middle school, Webb Bridge. As we neared the school, I suddenly decided that I would take this opportunity to do something I’d been meaning to do. I was going to visit my old teachers.

We pulled into the gate and I remarked on how small the school looked, almost as if it fit the stature of the students (and some of the teachers) within. I dropped Katie at the front walk, drove around the circle and parked in the visitor lot. I walked down the sidewalk, through the rows of brick pillars and up to the front door. I took an overly dramatic deep breath for my nonexistent audience and opened the door. Immediately upon entering, I realized something. I had forgotten about the little room in between the two sets of front doors and had wasted my drama on the outer doors. Sighing at the mediocrity of my life, I simply pulled open the inner doors and stepped inside.

A smell hit me. It was not repugnant, nor was it necessarily pleasing, but it was familiar. It was the existing scent that had been a staple of daily life for three years of my past, and it had not changed. Some may laugh at the idea of remembering a smell, but I would like any old Webb Bridge student to walk into that school without acknowledging that there is first of all, a distinct smell, and secondly, that that smell reminds them of middle school. After sufficiently breathing in the past, and garnering some quizzical looks from kids in the hall, I turned left towards the academic half of the school. I walked the long main hallway, passing familiar foreign language rooms on the left and unfamiliar murals on the right. Before I knew how far I’d come, I stepped out into the rotunda and there I was.

I immediately thought of how different middle school was. We didn’t have a certain spot at which we all gathered in the morning, or perhaps, if others did, I just wasn’t part of the group. The only grouping I recollect was the mass meeting after lunch in the other rotunda outside of the cafeteria, where we all briefly conversed between classes. I didn’t feel quite so comfortable in the halls of Webb Bridge as I do at Milton, where there are a few teachers who I could not only crash with for a while, but with whom I could also exchange real conversation. For a very brief moment, I looked down all of the halls from the hub of the wheel layout, remembering where my classes were, the paths I took, and how the walls seemed so much taller then.

Eventually, after seeing Katie again and observing the creative nature of the murals that now grace the boys’ bathroom, I walked into Mrs. Cropper’s old room. Mrs. Cropper taught me math and science during my time at Webb Bridge and was one of the two coaches of the academic bowl team that jumpstarted my social life, as much as an oxymoron as that would seem to be. That academic bowl team gave me a group of people with whom I shared something, even if that something was only knowledge and a helluva lot of fun. Through our competitions and our trips, I made good friends and friends of friends until I was eventually accepted by most and tolerated by the rest. That being the case, I consider Mrs. Cropper as more than just a great teacher, which she was, but she was also a crucial part of my middle school experience.

I entered the classroom and saw a familiar figure bustling around with some boxes. She didn’t notice me and was quite surprised when I called out, “They don’t move you guys much, do they, Mrs. Cropper?” She turned and smiled. After demanding a hug, Mrs. Cropper immediately asked me about school and specifically about academic bowl. I regretfully remarked that I wasn’t involved anymore, yet I listened happily as she explained all of the competitions the kids were into this year. Mrs. Cropper asked me about Georgetown, as she had apparently heard through the grapevine or the twilight bark or however news gets around about old students like us. I made the usual college chitchat and then walked with her across the hall to Mrs. Zenus’s room.

Mentioning Mrs. Zenus among her former students always gets a number of reactions, like perhaps a prolonged groan or a shudder, or both. This is due to the fact that Mrs. Zenus was not the kindest of teachers, nor was she the easiest. Many people have an anecdote about a particular time Mrs. Zenus rubbed them the wrong way or vice versa. Most of my friends know about how I got thrown out the first day of a new semester for responding to the question, “How do you graph this?” by saying, “Carefully.” That was one moment out of many that I recall about my personal battles with that woman, all of them losses on my part. There was more to Mrs. Zenus in my mind, however, and I think somewhere within the stories, others feel the same. No matter how much we disliked some things about Mrs. Zenus, we learned in her class. We also had some of the best hands-on experiences, an incredibly fun Halloween Decoration Day, and, of course, thousands of stories to carry on into high school.

It was with this better half of my memory of my old teacher that I entered her room. She was happy to see me, although not so surprised, saying that she’d been thinking about me lately. I pulled up a chair across from her at her computer and immediately started talking about college, school, all her old students, life, the universe and everything. She was thrilled that I was going to be a math major, as she taught me two years of math herself. I gave a report of all of the people who had her in middle school and just generally talked. It was surprisingly comfortable and I found that it is easy to talk to her now that my grade isn’t at her command. She told me how things had changed in terms of the students, the other teachers and the academic bowl team, which she also coached, but said that she hadn’t changed her methods and she was proud of it. Same old Mrs. Zenus. After listening to a few of her usual stories about her family and swapping some more memories, I stood up to leave. As I put my coat on, she looked me straight in the eye and asked me, “Ian, tell me honestly, did the way I taught you help you in high school?” I was taken aback by the question, but answered with what I honestly felt. “Yes, Mrs. Zenus. Your class made me ready for the pace of high school and I also came across many things that you had already taught me.” She smiled and I smiled back, amazed to hear her sincerity. Perhaps she knew I would have lied and told her yes even if I didn’t think so, but I know I meant what I said. On my way out the door, I stopped briefly to play with the gigantic K’nex roller coaster, and then I walked out into the hallway.

I got into my car and smiled at how nice it felt to come back and how much nicer it felt to realize how far I’d come. The visit gave me a sense of transition, a feeling that I’d gotten somewhere since middle school. Nonetheless, I felt like I had recognized an important part of my youth and that I was now ready to set out again into my life. I started the engine, and drove out through the gates. In the rear view mirror, the setting sun glinted off of the gym roof as I looked back. In real life, dramatic imagery always shows up too late.

For all of those who have heard me say today, “These have been the worst 24 hours of my life,” I’m sorry for saying something so pitiful and depressing. Things aren’t really that terrible. It has been a series of unfortunate events that were so significant in my mind that they seemed to outweigh all good things.

It all started with that damned Georgetown scholarship rejection yesterday (Tuesday). That depressed me in general with the essence of failure. I felt, and still partly feel, inadequate. It’s just something that will pass, I’m sure, but I just can’t shake this feeling that I’m not all I thought I was and that I’m just a great big disappointment to no one else but me. ‘Tis pity.

Today, I wanted to go for a better day, and it started very well with more lovely reassurance from Kate and the confirmation from a great many friends that the scholarship people are “assholes.” It’s nice to hear stuff like that. The reassurances, that is. I was excited that my friends would be getting their flowers in homeroom, because I wanted to make sure that they all felt as loved as they are, especially when they’re as cool as they’ve been in keeping me from getting down on myself. However, the flowers brought good news and bad news. The good news is that each of the girls got a flower and I got to see a few smiling faces due to’t. The bad news is that Kate wasn’t supposed to get A flower. She, being special to me, was supposed to get FOUR flowers (No “symbology” in there being four; it’s just a nice number). I think my reaction to this was more of disappointment then of outrage. I paid for ten flowers for 7 people. You don’t have to be an aspiring math major to figure out the problem there. I know she loved her flower and she reassures me (oh, what a motive of reassurance we have going here! Lord knows I need it.) that it’s the thought that’s important, but still, I wish she could have seen four bright carnations instead of just the one. I’m still glad those who received them enjoyed them and that’s enough to placate me. I’m just mildly miffed.

So what else could go wrong in a day, you ask? Ok, well a lot could, but I doubt there are many more spectacular ways to cap off such a day then the one I found. Fourth period delighted as usual with lovely Shakespeare readings and I managed through Physics. Then came 6th period. I don’t know if my brain takes a vacation during 6th period, but between the pole vaulting debacle and now this, I’m starting to think I need to take 6th period Isolation From Society. We started the period flipping people on the stage, teaching Sterling how to flip other people and successfully completing two simultaneous flips, which was quite cool. Then we had the bright idea to try and flip me.

I tentatively put my arms over Chris and Greg and did a trial jump. No problem. It was a good lift with only a little bit of problem holding me, but I’m a big guy and the momentum would help that out. All the same, Jones spotted me from behind and John Burge replaced Greg who didn’t fare the trial quite so well (which may have been the cause of what ensued). So we counted off, bent down together, and up I went. The next few seconds were a blur. I lifted into the air fairly normally, but lagged a bit at the top, which is why Jones rushed in to catch me. Unfortunately, this put him directly in my path as I rotated and my legs hit him pretty hard on both shoulders and about the head. This I saw from an inverted view, but only briefly, for my legs hitting Jones stopped my momentum in that direction. With that, I dropped head-first, slamming into the stage. Now, luckily I didn’t sustain a concussion, but this is only because I took the impact with my face. My first thought as I was lying on the stage was, “Good Lord, I broke my nose.” I am very serious. I was prepared to greet a mangled nose when Mic took me to the dressing room bathroom. However, I came out with just a gash across my nose that bled pretty consistently for 20 minutes before stopping. I was nonetheless numbed in the face, light-headed, and more than a bit flustered. I sort of stumbled around with a paper towel held against the gash for a while.

I still did a brief practice with the guys, watched the girls perform theirs some more and helped Mic pop her clutch at her house (which was quite nice, by the way, especially with the five happy and excited dogs). I just rode home feeling exhausted and convinced that I really couldn’t take anything else because I was too tired for it. I know things are still generally ok. It was a good day in many ways, but it just seemed like a bad day in a few more ways. The good thing is that I can always count on the aspects that made it good: good people and a close friend to keep me smilin’. I highly doubt, however, that I shall ever have another run-in with a hard wooden stage. Then again, anything is possible. Thanks to everyone for giving my day a silver lining shining too brightly to be ignored.

What an odd day. It has been one of the most peculiar and emotional days of my life today. It began with the American Mathematics Competition (AMC) this morning, taking up the first two periods. Everyone knows how seriously I take my math competitions and this was no exception. I knew I wanted to make it to the American Invitational Mathematics Examination (AIME), and so I set about the test with the intent to do well. I wanted to get more than the 100 that gets you to the next round. I’m disturbed that way, I suppose, but I just wanted some serious points. I think I did well, I answered 18 questions and I know I got at least one wrong (How could I have put that there is a triangle with sides of lengths 5, 1, and 1? How?), so I left the auditorium feeling confident, especially thanks to consulting Mr. Jones for his answers (which he derived in his head during the testing period).

As the test put us in third period calculus, I had what was basically a slack period as Mr. Wallis was recuperating from administering the test. When the Code Red suddenly came over the intercom, Kate magically appeared in our room, as she had been right outside as the code was given. We leaned against a wall and chatted for most of the insanely long “drill,” after which I used the counselor’s pass that Kate had for me (hence her presence outside our class) to go see Mr. Inman. He had me sign my scholarship form for the scholarship my mom’s company provides and after that, I just bummed with Kate in the counselor’s office for the short remainder of the period.

So those were the peculiar parts of my day. It just didn’t feel like the usual schedule, which is probably because it wasn’t. I suppose the main oddity was shifting from full circuits firing on the math exam to bumming around third period, which is normally the class which requires the most hard thought. AP Lit is different in that respect. It’s not easy, as I have a lot to learn, but it is a fun class that appeals directly to one’s mind, so it doesn’t take a great deal of hard learning. I just feel like a vessel being filled in that class. It’s a good feeling, one that helped maintain some semblance of normality once I got to Mr. Friedman’s classroom.

Not much else happened until after school. It was then that my day picked up amazingly from its already high levels of enjoyment. The reason for my amusement was lip sync practice. Practice is a loose term, as it was really just Chris, Joe and I teaching Seth how to do the Men in Tights flip over our arms. It was amusing watching Seth warily count off with us right before his first attempt. What was more amusing was his immediate wish to do it again upon successful flippage. The aspect of the practice that was really great was how ready Seth was to learn the choreography. I have had good luck with Joe practicing the moves, as well as Chris with getting the flip down and figuring out physics of it all. However, I had been worried about the initiative from the guys involved and about whether or not we could pull together a good act. Seth (And Erik as it will be shown) dispelled that feeling. Seth asked me to go step by step through the lyrics and motions, stopping me to confirm a step and picking it up amazingly fast. I cannot begin to explain how great it was to see that.

After Kramer and Joe had to leave, I ran home to get the Men in Tights video that I had accidentally taken out of my car. When I came back, Erik had arrived and we ran through the moves with him. Having three of us going through the whole thing really boosted my confidence in our production. I also just plain had a helluva lot of fun flipping Erik between Seth and me (which is a bit of a height difference), as well as doing the flip with the music exactly where we wanted to. It was perfect. All we need now is to attempt flipping multiple people.

The three of us ran through a few more times, worked out some staging issues, and finally set off to the cafeteria to audition. We got all geared up for our performance, signed our forms, and descended before our judges. To say that we were worried about whether or not we could pull it off……would be lying. We had been having too much fun to be worried. I mean, honestly, how often do you get to do acrobatics? Our audition went well, especially when we pulled the surprise. I doubt any judges expected to see Seth flying through the air. I left the school feeling exciting, a bit tired, and extremely satisfied.

Thanks to the wonderful nature of my life, this was not to last, however, and upon checking my e-mail, I received a blow similar to a freight train with a sledgehammer mounted on the front. I have been rejected for the John Carroll Scholarship, the one I really wanted from Georgetown. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the words in a nice, informal, crushing e-mail. I’m going to Georgetown, sure, but I wasn’t good enough for the prestigious scholarship. Perhaps I hold my ambitions for myself too high and too lightly, but damn it if I didn’t think I had that in the bag and damn it if I don’t feel like a failure at this simple event. I was in the proverbial whale dung (Does that work for things other than love?)and coming off of that fun practice, I had a long way to fall to hit it. I can’t remember ever feeling so rejected in my life, even after my previous deferral. I can’t explain it all. I just feel absolutely miserable about it, and if it weren’t for a well-timed phone call from a friend, I would have felt pretty unloved for the remainder of the evening. I guess it’s saying something important if I’ve got friends who can bring me up even when I’m at my worst. I really wish there was a “quality of friends” portion of application. What college wouldn’t accept me then?

I had to lector at Teen Mass today. I had to go back to my life of a few years ago and find I don’t belong. I had my same old confusion of faith ending in my assertion that I still abide by the beliefs that created irreconcilable differences between the church and me. I was happy, however, to see the kids stand up who were to receive their Confirmation next week. Among the dozens of faces, I saw the kids I took on retreats as a teen leader, kids for whom I’d set an example and with whom I’d shared laughs and solemn moments. After finding my own faith, I had made it my goal to bring God to these kids, and there they were, standing before me, ready to confirm their beliefs. Some still had eyes glazed over with the apathy they had maintained despite my work, but others…oh, others had the light in their eyes that I felt at one point.

I wonder why I speak so regretfully about losing my faith. I really do believe in my reasons and in the value of my integrity over the dogma of mother church; however, there’s something to be said about strong faith. It’s a beautiful idealistic bliss that makes life a bit more tolerable. It’s easy to understand how religion came about (if not by the grace of God). People need it. It gives them purpose. Some need it to help them out of dark times and if God and religion can bring people out from the dark, than more power to Him. Others see it as a way to reach out to others, a medium for helping one’s fellow man. Also a noble cause. I see myself as a person who does both now of my own accord, although searching for personal reward is a great deal more difficult than believing that God is smiling upon my actions. If I was created by a divine being, with a free will, body and mind capable of improvement and being a good person, wouldn’t the best way to celebrate that Creator be to make the most out of the life I’ve been given? If, however, there should be no God, then I have still led a life of personal fulfillment, integrity and pure life. I smile upon my young apprentices in faith, but I also hope that they too choose someday to act upon true feelings, emotions and reasoning, as opposed to guilt and fear. Faith in God can be easy. Faith in oneself? Well, how easy is it to believe in the one person whom you never forgive, whom you never accept, whom you always doubt, whom you always blame, whose accomplishments always pale in your eyes, and of whom you never approve? Seem a bit more difficult? Which is the true leap of faith, eh?

The guys finally decided to try to pull together a lip sync performance. Unfortunately, I have to be the fearless leader and attempt to make this a smooth running show. Tough job considering we organized this less than a week before auditions. Granted, as we are doing “Men in Tights” from Robin Hood: Men in Tights, one of the best movies ever and my favorite Mel Brooks movie, all of our choreography comes straight from the movie. Costumes, on the other hand, are problematic. Not only has Ms. Angel told us that we are the only guy group with whom there might be a dress code issue (tights), but also, where am I going to find nine or ten merry men outfits? I mean, honestly, there’s no section for woodsmen at local stores. In addition, although Sterling and Adam probably have a good hold on the concept, we have to try to put together a decent showing before the audition. It doesn’t have to be perfected, but it has to be somewhat done. The one thing that could make this amazing, however, would be if we can get Mr. Jones to be Robin Hood, which he is considering, I hope. If he were to do so, he could say the coolest line: “Unlike some other Robin Hoods, I can speak with an English accent.” If he were to do that, we could easily win some award at the show, as well as packing the theater because who wouldn’t want to see Jones as Robin Hood? I really hope this all works. So far, we have the four main characters. I am Little John, “but don’t let my name fool you. In real life, I’m very big.” Sterling will probably be Blinken, the loyal blind servant. Adam will probably be Ahchoo and Joe will round out the foursome as Will Scarlett (O’Hara). Talk about another movie I could throw out countless quotes from. It must be a Cary Elwes thing. He’s like the king of action adventure spoofs. So if everyone else just learns the basic motions, it’ll be up to us four guys to work on the specific humor that appears in the movie, most of which is Blinken’s doing. Just now I spent a few minutes trying to find costume accessories. I found cheap hats, which would be the hardest to make if we tried, but brown tunics are eluding me.

Anyway, speaking of everyone’s lip sync excitement, last night was all about performance as the guys and girls met at the auditorium to practice our respective shows. Actually, the girls were the only serious ones, especially when Meghan nicely kicked us out of the rehearsal. The guys practice was comprised mainly of watching the movie several times, running through the motion once, and a performance all the way through by me. It takes no time to pick up though, and the audition is more for content at this juncture. After giving up on practicing with the two guys that showed up, we just went and helped the girls with theirs, with Joe and Jamie standing in for a few of them and me running tech (which meant pressing play on the CD player). The girls did an incredible job again and I’m still very impressed with how graceful, talented and organized they are. Between them and a bunch of guys acting macho and wearing tights, it’s obvious where the true abilities lie. I still don’t know how we’re going to pull off a can-can line. It’s best not to think on’t currently.

This is a scholarship essay I wrote about influential family members. I know essays don't make you think, "oh, boy!" but actually, this one is quite honest, with no bs, and I actually was brought to tears while writing it.

I think the most influential family members in my life have been my uncles, my mother’s four brothers: Frank, Bob, Kevin, and Don. Due to the absence of my father in daily life in my childhood, these men not only took on the role of fun-loving, exciting uncles, but also managed to act as a father to me, each in his own way.

My uncle Frank was always concerned about my performance in school, asking about my conduct grades as early as first grade. His involvement gave me something to work for, as I would strive to do well academically as well as acting respectfully in class in an effort to proudly display my next report card when he asked for it. His approval meant a lot to me then and still does, and I hope I’ve become a nephew he can be proud of.

My uncle Bob has taught me well through example. As a science teacher, his devotion to his profession is especially admirable now, as I’m considering making teaching a part of my future. Uncle Bob seems to have chosen an occupation that he has a great passion for and I respect that more than I’ve told him. When I hear him talk about animals or explain some aspect of nature, I can understand the way in which he’s taken something he loves and made it his life. In terms of finding a mentally rewarding job, it seems as if Uncle Bob has cut the Gordian knot.

My uncle Kevin’s role has been more of a teacher, especially in terms of sports. Even as a child, Uncle Kevin would have me out in the yard playing catch or play baseball when my younger cousins were born. He taught me how to throw a baseball, bat, shoot baskets, throw footballs, and countless other physical activities. If there’s one thing I’ve gained from my lifetime of athletic experiences with Uncle Kevin, it’s that I can do anything if I make the effort to learn it. I also learned that there’s always room for self-improvement. To this day, I can still always count on a visit with Uncle Kevin involving physical activity, as well as something new to learn.

Last, but hardly least, my uncle Don has taught me how to enjoy life. He would probably be surprised to hear this, as he may consider himself a bit surly at times. However, Uncle Don has never failed to bring a smile to my face during a conversation. He can find humor anywhere and is also one of the nicest people I know when it comes to the way he treats others. Even in the middle of a complaint, I’ve seen Uncle Don crack a smile and find a lighter side to anything. From him, I’ve learned that nothing in life should be able to bring one’s spirit down too much. There’s always something to enjoy out of life.

To center upon each uncle’s contribution as I have done is not to say that he lacks in any of the other capacities. Each of my uncles has played each role a number of times and I have simply illustrated what stands out the most in each. These are men I admire, respect, and love because of all they’ve given me. I consider it an honor to know them, much less be their nephew, for I owe all of my success to them and I am forever thankful to have them in my life.

Enough about blogs, I wish to get back to my serious journal, my life on paper, moment by moment. Last night I went to Hanley’s birthday party at Houck’s. The evening started with the basketball Senior Night where we went to cheer on all of our friend who were being celebrated. I took pictures for Stephanie and Meghan as they walked through the arch with their parents and congratulated Kris, Jamie, Alison, and everyone involved whom I knew.

I had driven Kate to the ceremony because she’s sick and didn’t feel up to sitting through a whole game and was also too sick to make it to Hanley’s party. Thus, I worked out a carpool situation with Meghan and after the ceremony, drove Kate home to rest from the noise and lights and just generally relax. Once I got back home, Meghan called and we decided that I would pick up Katie (who was now coming with us), drive to Meghan’s and then Meghan would drive us all there. It was a good plan, supported by a mapquest directions sheet, and we did make it to the restaurant; however, Katie and Meghan believed that they knew a quicker way back home and we planned to try that on the ride back. More on that later.

The party rocked my world. It was amazing enough that Hanley’s dad was paying for all of us to eat at a great restaurant, but the music was so cool. There was a band called The Return, a Beatles tribute band, and they were amazing. I’m not a big Beatles fan. I don’t dislike them, but I was never a Beatlemaniac like some in our crowd. That mattered little last night because the music was catchy, everyone was dancing, and the atmosphere was just contagious. I went from sitting quietly eating my dinner (bacon wrapped filet….mmmmmm) and joking around to dancing crazily in front of our table and carrying Hanley to the front with Sterling as a birthday surprise. I had so much fun dancing with everyone and, as the band was so spot-on Beatles, it was like we were dancing at an actual concert. I worked up a satisfied sweat until the last “Twist and Shout” and the encore “Long Tall Sally.” We walked out into the chilly night air at quarter past eleven, opted against doing something else, and piled in our cars to head home.

Things were doomed from the start, I believe, when we tried our road less taken onto Riverside Drive. We followed it quite a long ways through dark foreboding roads (and one freaky floating sign) until I had the bright idea to look at the road we were on and saw that it had become Spalding. So we back tracked to see where we went awry and found out that not only did we miss when the roads changed, but there was a completely different stretch called Dairymiple between Spalding and Riverside that we had passed on unnoticed and it had only been Riverside for about half a mile from the beginning. That being realized, we set off in the other direction on Riverside, but then got equally confused amongst back roads and dark woods, joking occasionally (“This is like Bliar Witch Project” “Don’t say that!”) and eventually deciding to forget the pioneer lifestyle and just go home the way we came, which amazingly worked! How weird is that?

Things happen for a reason sometimes, though, and as we meandered through the back roads, Meghan, Katie and I struck up a serious conversation about relationships, sharing stories, thoughts, ideas, and reassurance. Some things were hard to say and hear and others seemed like they needed to be said a long time ago. Either way, I wouldn’t have gone home the right way for any amount of money, because the conversation was worth that much to me. When I arrived home at 1:15 in the morning, nearly two hours after leaving the restaurant, I felt grateful for every moment I’d spent that night, from large, crazy, beautiful dance party to thoughtful, honest, heartfelt three-way conversation. Friends are a beautiful thing to have and it was helpful to know that amongst the chaos of certain events, we haven’t lost our group dynamic. Perhaps it’s stronger than ever.

I have spent a great deal of time lately commenting on other blogs and neglecting to post on my own. I realized something today after posting my rather blatant comment on Chad's blog. I don't know what I expect to gain from being honest as I have been doing in comments for a few days now. Frankly, if I say what I really think about people, that's going to absolutely ruin the dynamic of our group in terms of how each person acts twards each other. I mean look at what's happened since this Chris thing. We're all like ants who have had our pile kicked. It's anarchy at the social level in some senses. I have just made things awkward by posting what I actually think about things and ironically, I want to take back the truth. Granted, Sterling and Chad have been fighting in blogs about music and such and they can still hold a conversation at lunch from time to time. But was the truth worth changing the landscape and having people view me as a sort of social whistle-blower? How is everyone going to react to this? Am I overestimating how many people care? I don't know. I feel awful either way and I'm sure to take a lot more time before I post my actual thoughts on a serious matter next time. I'll still respond to any arguments for or against what I've said recently; I'm not going to post what I have and then say "Nope, not listening, lalalalalala." Not a very good plan, that. All I'm saying is that the truth is highly overrated and perhaps, if someone is doing something that isn't necessarily harming anyone, maybe it's better left unmentioned. I think, however, that I'd like to know if people didn't respect me for something I do or if what I did bothered others. I'll have to wait a while to decide how I feel about the nature of truth. Three cheers for ambiguity!