Meridith Grace Turner is not ok.

Recently I re-discovered all the stories I wrote in high school. They were stupid, really. Me and a few other close girlfriends made a soap opera out of our lives. Each of us had a character; I was Meridith (After Grey's Anatomy) my friend Sarah was Anabelle (for no reason, really) and my other friend Elan was Annie (After Annie Get Your Gun, because she is a cowgirl at heart.) For a long time I was scared to post this anywhere in case anyone who we had written into the stories discovered it, but now this all seems too long ago to matter. The events are fictional, and the people only vaguely resemble reality. Here they are in pure, unedited, high school format, in no particular order. I'll start at the end, I wrote this at the end of freshman year at Allegheny when my life was going to pieces.

Ashley Eric Grey (Mt. Desert Island High) wrote
at 2:51am
Hahaha, I'm actually up writing about psychology experiments, which is really, really fun. I'm with you; I do miss the days when you could be like, "Fuck this tonight (or for the next 2 weeks), I'm going to bed" without real consequences. Oh senioritis. I don't understand why it has bad connotations. I feel like there should be a word that means the same thing that is more positive. Seniophoria? SenioIhavebetterthingstodo? Seniorvana? It's too late and too early to have good alternatives, but I think senioritis is too negative.

Good luck with your paper.

Thanks. The blank screen is vaguely staring back at me. I want to reply with all the emotion that I have been carrying for the last few weeks, months, years. But cliché is not my style, so I will allow others to fill pages with flowery sentiments as I stare silently at this comment. I can’t seem to come to a standstill; my life has become an act of floating between classes, people, events. Nothing is solid, nothing is important. I may finish school, I may fail all of my classes. In the long scheme of things this is irrelevant. Once I thought that I had to play by the rules, do everything by the book. But where striving for “excellence” has made me a social and intellectual robot, I have lost the things that I didn’t know I needed. I have lost love to societal conventions, thought to grammar rules, myself to the rigid system of humanity. Now I’m being hypocritical, I said earlier that I wasn’t going to depend on flowery language. Well then, I’ll leave with a simplicity. Meridith Grace Turner is not ok, and there is nothing that she or anyone else can do about it.