Friday, June 28, 2013

class of 93

Kym Perna 1993 (senior picture...note the halo of frizz and closed-mouth/full-lipped smile due to braces)
My twentieth reunion is approaching (like, this weekend) and I may be just a little bit excited to catch up and reflect on the most awkward/angst-ridden/grueling four years of my life.
I spent most of high school aggravating my parents, making brood-y mix-tapes, pining for the wrong boys, doodling elaborate notes to friends, failing every class except art and English, writing in my journal (undoubtedly about aforementioned boys and the cruel unfairness of the world in general), dying my hair with Manic Panic/Kool-Aid/Sharpies, and waiting for the next Cure/Depeche Mode/REM/New Order album to come out.  
That's what I remember.
Instead of Senior Week, I signed up for a ten day trip to the White Mountains hosted by the quirky/creepy substitute science teacher (Mr.Maerker-Rhymes-With-Worker) and ten other random students...
If that doesn't illustrate my social ineptness, I don't know what does ("Um, so there's this trip to New Hampshire and we're going to climb Mount Washington and no, I'm not really friends with the other kids who are going, but we were friends in middle school and...oh, Senior Week? Um, I can go to the beach any time").
In truth, I was mortified at the prospect of being surrounded by my peers (in a swimsuit?! pale skin, boyish figure, for a week-long drinking binge in OCMD...I mean, I might have gotten in trouble.
That pretty well sums up who I was twenty years ago and some things haven't changed.
I still doodle elaborate notes to my friends, I still obsessively make mix-tapes playlists, I still write (or blog) nearly every day, and I'd still rather climb a treacherous mountain than spend a drunken week at the beach.
I'm still socially awkward, but I am totally okay with that.
I don't, however, spell it K-y-m anymore...that shit was just silly.

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