Today. Almost two years after the
Columbine shootings, I got called down to see the
school psychologist.
You see, the day before, I had written Trojal a note in explanation of my odd behavior at lunch. I had been in a bad mood and took my agression out on a couple of excedingly loud jocks, as well as on him. The note basically said that stuff with my ex-girlfriend was harsh, that Valentine's Day was really gonna suck, and that I had probably failed my chem quiz earlier in the day. No big deal, right?
Pretty much. Although, you see, I had written in parentheses after Valentine's Day, "Massacre Day!" That was a little worrying, school shootings and all that. (Although I really meant it in a historical context.)
The main issue, though, was the lyrics I had written on the outside of the note. I always write lyrics, and this time I had chosen "Prayer to God" by Shellac. Specifically, the part that reads:
Him, just fucking kill him,
I don't care if it hurts.
Yes I do.
I want it to.
Fucking kill him, but first
make him cry like a woman.
No particular woman..
I guess that could upset a few people.
So anyway, Marc lost the note, someone found it, and turned it into the vice principal who decided I needed to talk to the psychologist. Psychologist sees me. Long hair, black jeans, black t-shirt. She sorta freaks out and gives me a lecture how my appearance can contribute to people having a bad impression of me, I tell her that I am happy looking the way I am and people should not judge others. Whatever. At least I missed 20 minutes of class