Lamentations of a Teenager This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 1, 2010
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Life can be so unfair! The life of a teenager lacks all possible forms of passion and romance! Sitting listlessly in my pink boudoir, I ponder the usefulness of the Pythagorean Theorem, a noble task. But there is no possible way to prevent my thoughts from turning to romance, or more accurately, my lack of it. I am confused as to why TV shows portray teenagers’ lives as being filled with drama and polygamous relationships. I have found this to be quite far from the truth, considering that the suburbs are not a nurturing habitat for budding affairs. Love is not the only area in my life that is lacking excitement. Every day at 5:50 in the morning, I wake up asking myself, “Why me? Surely Jennifer Aniston doesn’t have to wake up this early.” I am also certain that she doesn’t learn about the fall of communism in Russia at 7:25 a.m. My life is completely void of poetic justice.

Communism is about as interesting as fabric softener, but then again, this is quite possibly the entire premise of history class. We really should learn about life essential subjects, such as social networking and how to gracefully re-gift lamps. What life lessons can be learned from Macbeth? Don’t kill your coworkers? Here is the problem with Shakespearean tragedies: they are tragic. I strongly question the thought process behind the educational system. I dare to say that puberty is the ultimate tragedy, and nothing about puberty is fiction. And if raging hormones aren’t enough of a plague, we have to labor over homework for hours on end every day. It is a combination bound to result in disaster, and a crime against all youth. Granted, homework will help improve our minds and grades, but teenagers were not made for such relentless mental strain! I fully support academic growth, but my sanity is actually rather important to me.

In these hard times, I should be creating an intimate relationship with money, not doing homework. In the future when I am lounging in my silk upholstered cabana in St. Barts, I will not be thankful for my knowledge of the industrialization of Britain. Knowing how to handle riches is a skill far more useful than being able to accurately diagram the digestive system of a frog. Simply saying the word homework makes one break out into a cold sweat. The severity of my scholastic overdose has appeared in nightmares. In one nightmare, I had to translate a worksheet into Spanish while my entire class yelled at me to hurry up. Another time my math teacher tried to murder me, forcing me to run into a dark forest. I shudder to think how I will survive this inner turmoil until summer break comes along.

Summer break is to school what democratic revolution is to Communism. I need some sort of insurgence to break the monotony that makes up daily life. Of course, starting a rebellion is not in my area of expertise, but perhaps mutiny is an inborn quality in youth. I would love to bring out fervent, concerted drama within the masses. What a lovely departure from the dull it would be! Sadly, my dreams of passion would be smothered, if expressed, by some form of authority. The word passion coming from the mouth of youth conjures up all sorts of ghastly images in the minds of adults. In all sincerity, my aspirations of romance are quite benign. I only want a bit of intrigue to spice up the otherwise blasé routine of teen angst. What else can a girl ask for?

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