046. Counting Stars.


Today, I managed to do something I’ve missed terribly. Slipping in the library, I studied all the new fiction they had just come in. Which translates to the ones with interesting covers and flap-descriptions that didn’t sound boring. I took a solemn looking one with a leaf on the cover, some sort of old-camera-found mystery, another with a girl wearing hijab, and finally a bright pink one with a doll in drag.

I forgot how much I love fiction. Slipping into another’s mind, and knowing that it isn’t a classic, no one is forcing you to read the thing, and learning life through someone else’s eyes, another’s pen. One inspires, brings out the words and the flow and the poems, fingers surprised as they brush against tears. Another, shrieking laughter and understanding and delectable amounts of camp. I haven’t touched the other two. I can’t wait until I have the time to.

Slipping into the auditorium, and hiding there for two periods. Reading and breathing quietly and marveling at the way the world fades as it ignores you. I read most of a book, wrote my mind and thought.

It was only these thoughts that kept me murdering someone on the bus. I know that school-transport sucks. I wasn’t expecting perfume and dainty cushions. But. Four people in a seat. Three squished, one laying atop? No. Especially STRANGERS. And then, the biggest fuck-up: Having all the highschool, middleschool and ELEMENTARY STUDENTS on one overcrowded bus. The people come in layers, so one can visually track the way the bus fills up. When it was only the high schoolers on the bus, there was two people in about half the seats (one person in the rest, with maybe two empty seat) Add the middle schoolers, and we are now full. Over-full, really, but bearable. Two people in every seat, with three skinny people cramming pretty much every other row. THEN THEY ADD THE ELEMENTARY KIDS. We now have the chronically-obese kid (400lbs), who takes up a seat by himself, with two people in his lap. If you were two to a seat because that’s all you could fit, tough. You are now three to a seat, as is every kid on the bus. The skinny kids (and the not-so-skinny) are four to a seat. Add in the fact that the highschoolers that you wouldn’t trust with a gerbil now have five year olds in their laps. There’s probably some sort of way to get to the administration that this is NOT WORKING, but I doubt it.


The bus driver also needs to have a heart attack. I’m not actively wishing it’s fatal, but give me another ride. The man is senile (mid seventies, no teeth), a shit driver (curb! other car! LIGHT!), plays to the smelly kids on the intercom (he: blaahblaahBOBblaah. smelly kids in the front: HOOTHOOLAHNOYOUDI-INT! everyone else: SHUTUP), and DOES NOT PAY ATTENTION. Fights have broken out. Trashy guys get head. And those motherfucking fiveyearsolds bite. Don’t believe me? Hah. I stopped worrying about the innocent kidlets a while back, after one of them tried to punch me. They bite, hair-pull, pinch, and SQUEAL. They are demons.

After squirming down the aisle, stepping over and on unwashed hot sweaty bodies and trying to fit through the rows with eight people across, I told the busdriver to his face that “this, sir, is bullshit”. He acted like he couldn’t hear me. Fucking hate the bus.

One nice thing, though. A wonderful friend drove up right after I got off the bus, bringing my wonderfully warm coat which I left at school. That restored my faith in some humanity. I am going to try and gank rides from him after this debacle. I didn’t want to be annoying and interfere with the time he has with his girl (who is an absolute sweetie and handed me the coat from the passenger’s side), but another bus ride like that and I may be bringing my pepper spray with me. Just to shut them up.

My list of to-do has not be done. I’ll do some of it tonight. Possibly forgoing sleep. First up is to finish the Assault and reread Gatsby. then, find a picture for Art. HOA. Those I know I can finish. If I manage this, I may be able to pull off my overdue English essay. I even have a killer topic that has meaning and context and comparisons cross book and culture that don’t come off as shallow. Something about censorship and conformity and society.

If anyone has any books to recommend, I’d love them. I want fiction. I want books that no one has picked up, the ones too new to be classic, too random to be well known. Books you found in the library in middle school, feeling like a secret was just tossed into the pages as you hid in the stairwell and read the paperback, realizing the damn thing should really be in the highschool library and keeping that secret from the slightly overbearing librarian. Books that really have no substance but contain everything.

You know what I’m talking about.

The titles I grabbed:

“Undercover” Beth Kephart
“Freak Show” James St. James
“Click” Various Authors
“Does My Head Look Big In This?” Randa Abdel-Fattah


4 Responses to “046. Counting Stars.”

  1. 1 bylandl

    The trashy guys get head? That’s intense. And to think I thought my bus sucked.
    And it does.
    Just not as much as yours does.

    I suggest complaining to your principal pronto.

    It’s not fiction, nor is it new, but please read http://rilke.de/gedichte/poemes_64.htm (I can’t remember if you take French or what. If not, disregard this. Or read it for the sound. But I love this.) Read some other (translated) Rilke if you can.

  2. 2 Pip

    Yeah. My bus is made of eewy. I doubt the admins will do anything about it.

    And <3! Will find translation!

  3. I was obsessed with Zelda in high schoo and wrote my most urgent high school report on Gatsby. So to find those references tangled up with a blog entry sitting right on top of something UNDERCOVERish was kind of cool.

    Thanks for giving the book a chance.


  4. 4 Pip

    It’s amazing, the small coincidences that occur in random places.

    Thank you, in return, for writing a book that both moved effortlessly from reminiscing laughter to startled tears, inspiring and absolutely making my day twice. Once, reading the book itself. Secondly, reading your comment and realizing that an author I admire actually commented on a little blog entry of mine.

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