cracking up.

It was last Wednesday. I did a little experiment--I began to contemplate on all the negative in my life. Broken relationships, regrets, fluctuating grades. Life was already serious to begin with, and I'd just made things worse.

The storm cloud heaved itself over me for the whole day. Everyone else trekked through the day pretty normally. I proceeded with caution. I was on my way to long-term depression. All the things that used to make my day break it, and suddenly everything seemed corny and scripted. The pessimist in me broke out. And it was infecting everyone within a five-seat radius.

I purposedly drained the fun out of my own life. Why I did that, I'm still trying to figure out. Maybe it was because my life was starting to get a little too close to perfect. I couldn't accept the fact that for once in my life, things were going my way. Smooth sailing. I tipped my own boat to get a little more reality. Reality was bigger than what I was prepared for.

After class, I literally jumped into the school bus, wanting the sadness to end. When I get home, this'll all be over, I assured myself. A good book will calm me down.

The school bus was a jungle. Piercing (oh, yes, piercing) screams emanated from every corner possible. Crumpled pieces of paper were thrown at every direction, and someone was dancing to George Michael's "Careless Whisper". I wanted to detach myself from that world and hole up in my own thoughts. Cue headphones.

I had my music set on full blast, so I wouldn't hear everyone rehashing. I had enough of the day. I didn't want to hear more about it. Savoring--or rather, dreading--every line of the rock anthem I was listening to. And realizing that every word screamed out the complete pandemonium that was my life.

Feeling sorry for myself seemed like an easy task. I was sinking deeper into my reverie when I heard boisterous laughter that could not be ignored. Looking up, deeper dimples, squinting eyes and red faces greeted me. They were cracking up to an inside joke I would never know about.

Maybe it was better that way. I break glass when I laugh. I really get into it. And that's why I hate it when someone tells me a joke and everyone else gets it but me. Or when everyone else is laughing and I'm the odd one out.

That's when it hit me. Everything I'd been contemplating about had been said and done, and there was no use in dwelling on it. My past--everyone's past is like a shattered bottle. Nothing I do can put the pieces back together the way it was.

So I took off my headphones, smiled and asked the person beside me.

"What was the joke again?"