There is something inherently wrong with me. The fact that I needed my History teacher to point out my stress level accounts for it all.
"Oh, Miss T said you are really stressed and that we should bring you out more often." said Mag in her amused tone.
I was bewildered. No, shocked. I know I'm stressed, but just NOT that stressed to plaster it on my face. I could go, "Yeah, I'm fucking stressed, I'm darn stressed, I'm bloody stressed, I'm damn stress. Look." [points to seriously confused face] But hell, am I really that stress for my history teacher to indirectly tell me, "You seem really stressed lately, you ought to go out and live a little!"
Wow, and just a few days ago, she was lecturing on how we should stay home and do a series of intensive revision for Decolonisation, Arab-Palestinian, Indo-Pakistani...you get my drift.
I must say though, that I was really touched. I never knew how perceptive Miss T was. She must have seen that tired, restless, edgy look of mine that never fails to leave after a night of insomnia. I would try flashing that toothy grin the next time I see her.
"No, you better not," said my sister. "She might send you to see the school counselor."
"EXCUSE ME?!"
"Think about it. Rain one-who-never-smiles is smiling? People will think you're crazy and run away!"