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The girl I had a crush on in high school got in touch with me through Facebook the other day. I was crazy about her for the end of grade nine, all of grade ten, and if I'm not mistaken--the first portion of grade eleven. I don't mess around with my crushes.
I actually owe this girl. The only reason I signed up for biology class was because she was in it and biology ended up being the only science I didn't drop or flunk out of. If not for my romantic obsession, I might not have graduated from high school (*).
She told me I once wrote her a poem, which I don't remember at all. I do recall giving her a unicorn for her birthday (April 20--weird the things that stay with you) and fleeing in embarrassment.
I guess I'm the typcial self-absorbed writer, because my first thought upon learning of the existence of this forgotten poem was: "I wonder if it was any good."
Magic eight-ball says 'doubtful.' I'm a decent writer, but poetry has never been my forte. Perhaps it's better that this lost Dan Brodribb Masterpiece remains lost.
(*)I didn't realize this until recently, but I skated through high school by the narrowest of margins. Looking back, I'm amazed at how oblivious I was; I knew I was in danger, but it never occurred to me I wouldn't make it. My attitude towards academic was the same as some guys' attitude towards being a boyfriend--if you show enough potential, your actual performance gets overlooked. I've noticed that strategy gets less and less effective, the further you get from high school. I suspect a couple teachers added some 'participation marks' to help push me through.
Wednesday, January 9 - The Comic Strip
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