RHS: for a given value of tribute

OK, now that it's getting too dark to sand, I can spend as long as I like writing and revising and rewriting and re-revising and washing and rinsing and repeating. Unless I fall asleep.

Yes, my memories of Redmond High School are truly that gripping. Especially for those readers who do not have to live my boredom, and can simply skip the large part that such would play in an accurate rendition of my latest educational capstone (or headstone, if you're feeling gloomy).

In fact, since I don't particularly want to revisit those particular segments of time that I spent staring out a classroom window onto sunny, fresh-mown grass more than I already have, I will simply move on to a topic that is both near to my heart and of at least a modicum of interest to any readers determined enough to get this far: Me. Or rather, a look back at the me that came to RHS and the me that has just left it.

When I first arrived at RHS as a Sophomore, I was running a D&D game for 9 people, all of which were older than me (ranging from 18-45 years). I had an encyclopedic memory too... for the Player's Handbook and the Dungeon Master's Guide. I wielded an authority backed by iron self-confidence and a hefty charge of charisma amongst my friends. When among other company, I tended towards reservation. I avoided school dances and house concerts of my favorite musicians (and yours too) like the plague, spending the time in my room writing campaign material instead. As I recall, It was a feeling similar to that of lying in bed and listening to the rain on the roof. Comfort and Security.

I'm losing the original thread I'd intended. Oh well. I'd better just list the memories as they come before both of us fall asleep.
 

• I remember how I ranted about the stupidity of the IEP system, and how often I abused the hell out of it.
• I remember how my anatomy/physiology teacher, Mr. Currie, used to lose himself while he was lecturing and revert to his default lecture about how drugs affect the brain. He came off as either an airhead or a stoner (there were rumors. There always are).
• I remember how my best friend and I were forced to grow apart as a result of the cliques. He went to the computer geeks, I hung out with the gamer geeks. I remember regretting that I did not make more of an effort to maintain it.
• I remember how easy it was to convince myself that the homework was not urgent, necessary, or worth doing. I remember how easily I could distract myself.
• I remember how desperately I wanted to be more outgoing, more engaging. I remember how desperately I avoided any opportunity to begin becoming so.
• I remember getting my laptop. My wonderful, dependable laptop. I remember applying the dragon artwork to it shortly thereafter, which made my laptop the most commented-upon thing about me for months (even now, it is second only to the comment "Dude! I saw you doing that spinny thing at the [insert location]! That was awesome!")
• I remember coming home every day for months and hammerdancing from 2:30 to 6.
• I remember the satisfaction I discovered could be found in a page of finished math homework.
• I remember how the path home used to run rivers in the rain.
• I remember how, when the rain was coming down and I had no jacket, I would focus on keeping my eyebrows unscrunched. How much easier it was to enjoy the simple walk home in the rain when not resisting and resenting it.
• I remember how, when I just beginning, I brought poi to school and spun at lunch. I remember being lightly mocked by a couple of jocks. Granted, to them I was just a guy twirling hot-pink-and-black striped stockings in rather repetitive motions.
• I remember how Mr. Rowley let me spin first poi and then staff (after I made a collapsible PVC staff that would fit in my backpack) in his classroom during lunch every day. I remember when the assistant principal came in one day and told me I should spin in the celebrate the arts assembly.
• I remember passing beautiful women in the halls every day and feeling absolutely powerless.
• I remember the things I found interesting, and I remember how much I tuned out.
• I remember the faults I discovered in myself, and I remember the ways I discovered to overcome a few.
• I remember how easily words came to me when I didn't need them.
• I remember the day Obama was sworn into office. We went from class to class, but nobody was teaching.
• I remember the freeform debates of philosophy, economy, politics, the environment, and reality in general with my friends.
• I remembered monotany and mundanity every day. Every day, I remembered to forget.

And I remember the near-panicked scramble to complete everything I needed for graduation on time. I remember the vague sense of relief and the growing unsettlement as the graduation approached. I remember the infectious giddiness of my fellow graduates, which somehow overwhelmed my sudden loss of direction momentarily. I remember the feeling of unknown paths ahead, with unknown things at the end. After all, did Robert Frost not write:

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I stood and watched the world go by,
And so have stood there ever since."

He didn't of course. That was me (2/3 me anyway), and it occurred to me as I was writing this that it matters less what path I take then to where I'm going. Whatever path I select will have treasures along the way that are worth savoring, but a fork in the road has nothing for me but a choice.

I guess I can wait to make it 'til tomorrow.