  Mr. Lang, my Creative Writing teacher, says that a writer needs to earn the use of foul language. That a writer has to use it carefully and selectively in order to convey things properly.
Now, I don’t profess to be lenient with cussing, but, for the sake of argument, let’s pretend I am that sort of girl. Holy fucking shit. Imagine, if you will, seeing your once most outspoken advocate in anti-school-spirit flailing her arms in the middle of a crowded hallway whilst singing the school fight song at the top of her lungs. And for the second time in the last few months, I feel abandoned by a friend. This isn’t a Mary-scaled issue.
I’ve reconciled that Robin stands a chance of coming out of this phase better equipped to fight for what she believes in. I hope I’m not deluding myself too much here. But everything feels different today. Really, how significant is this going to be? Yes, a decent number of ciggies were wasted trying to calm myself down. And yes, in my typical fashion, I sobbed. But if there is one thing Mary taught me, aside from the scariness of fundamentalism, it is this: don’t give people and circumstance more power than they are worth. Because it’s not worth it. I could use this medium to further bitch about my current situation with a couple of my closest friends. But honestly, it’s a collection of crap that seems to be the material for a good episode of The OC.
It’s uncanny, really, how much my life mirrors a Lifetime Original Movie. But I don’t want to wrap myself up in that blanket of pettiness, however familiar or comfortable it is. Very much in character, Anna snapped me back out of the brewing melodrama. “Have fun wallowing in your anger, hun.” I will not wallow. (But I will listen to Bright Eyes and calculate the number of days until high school is over. ) Affectionately… Anna 
