Heirlooms

I didn't know what the animal on the vase was until we broke it. I didn't think Mom did either, but apparently it was some sort of family heirloom. She didn't deal too well with my retort that it would have been nice to know which items in our household are of major value.

I think that's a fine argument. Valid, even.

I don't hop on the glass coffee table in the parlor the way I hop on the wooden one in the family room. I don't take out the Waterford Crystal bowls for cereal. Not since that time a few years ago, after Mom told me and Cecelia not to. And we listened. Because once we knew that it was valuable, it made sense. A lot more sense than a bowl that's worth $75.

But the vase was just a little flower receptable, and full disclosure, it was super ugly.

I mean, here I am, getting straight A's, graduating two years ahead of my class, and never so much as ditching a single class, and my mom is pissed as Hell about a broken Bull vase. Is it too cliche to call bull on this whole situation?

I told my therapist about the whole debacle; she took her glasses off and stuck the end tip in her mouth. She always does that. I know some people have tics and comfort habits, but I think she just does it to buy time. I swear, this lady never knows what to say to me.

I told my mom I wanted a new therapist. I saw it on a tv show- apparently if you don't think your therapist is a good fit, you can just tell them and they're happy to find you someone who is. Someone you trust.

Maybe they dont do that with minors. I think it's a conspiracy to bring up another generation of people with trust issues. Fill our heads with nonsense about mythical creatures leaving us money for our decayed baby-teeth, say HA HA just kidding aren't you gullible, and then forcing us to stare at some Psych grad student for therapy for 50 minutes every week for two years because it would cost $60 more a month to pay for someone who's actually qualified to deal with moderate teen angst and several clinical mood disorder characteristics.

I made a tikTok about this, but the results were somewhat undesirable. First it got removed for offensive comments; Then I got sent to the principal's office, where both of my parents were already waiting to stare at me disapprovingly.

Why even bother calling me in out of stupid AP Trigonometry if you've already decided that I'm acting out? God forbid you ask me why I feel the way I do...

But I swear, I'm reposting that video when I turn 35 and if it doesn't go viral and yield at least 50 comments from women in their 30s saying oh my gosh, me too, I'll give back the Pulitzer I will have most certainly won by then.

For now, I'm restricted from social media for the next three months. It's fine. I was going to need a sabbatical eventually. Most deep thinkers do. It's hard to pace yourself when thoughts come to you so fast. Sometimes sharing everything is all I can do to stay sane. I mean, my mom always tells me I don't have to say everything I think, but what is this, South Korea? Why even teach kids about Free Speech if you don't want them to use it?

Again, I really feel I'll hit my stride around 30. But what am I supposed to do- lay low for the next 14 years?

That's a long time. That's a lot of handwritten journals to transcribe, my friends. And I'm a lefty; My shorthand leaves something to be desired.

I'm not saying our "super BULL accident" happened because I was taken off social media, but it would be negligent to fail to mention that I was looking for ways to fill my time.

My Mom told me maybe I could work on a new hobby this week- apparently gluing back Vases to look like they hadn't been shattered wasn't a good one. I thought we actually did a decent job with the superglue. Jacob just filled it with too much water, which weakened the glue... But I blame myself.

When you partner up with a boy in your escapades, you really do have to over-explain every detail. I thought that since the flowers were fake, it went without saying, but I understand how I was wrong to omit that detail for my brother.

But Jacob's okay-- mostly. He's not even mad that we're in the same class at school in spite of him being 19 months older. And he only asks to copy my work about once a semester. I'm at peace with that- it allows me at least one really good favor.

Last year he let me come to the football team's big blowout rager with him. He told me I was crazy for hiding out in the corner of the room for the whole night, but I wasn't there to get wasted. It was research. I may be good at school, but I'm not exactly an expert on the typical teenage experience. I just had some questions that I wanted answers. I think I would have gotten more data if I hadn't tried the punch. It should really be labeled. It just tasted like punch.

I know I should be smarter with teenager stuff, but I just don't feel like one. I don't know what I feel like. At least I'm smart-smart though. Someday that'll count for something.

I thought my little sister Cecelia would turn out to be as smart as me, but every time they test her, she gets pretty average scores. It's fine. I don't love her any less for not being a genius, but when we were younger, I always thought we'd go to college together. Then again, I'd probably be done by the time she got there.

Jacob isn't even applying anywhere. He wants to take a gap year, but my mom says people who are going to community college don't need one.

I mostly get along with Jacob, but I thought that was a pretty good burn. Especially from our Mom.

I may not be her favorite now, but when I have my degree and a Pulitzer and a bestseller, I'll make a big important speech somewhere and I'll tell the story of how I broke her stupid, ugly, Bull vase. And she'll joke about how mad she was, but she'll be so proud.

And then I'll give her the key to some little vacation home with a bunch of ugly antique vases on the mantel and we'll laugh about this year.