Carrying On

March 8th

        Today I didn’t go to school.  I finally realized that there wasn’t much point.  I already have straight A’s.  Not that anypony cares.  I’m doing fine at school, why should I go?  No pony is going to notice, except the teachers, who will mark it on a paper and forget.  Watched the news again.  Fourteen robberies, twenty-three murders, six corporate frauds, and twelve suicides.  Each one was given less than a minute of air-time.  That’s the world I live in.  One where we push aside all the bad things we don’t want to think about, and focus on other things.  I don’t.  I think about it a lot.   I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.  I’m stuck in a world that I can’t change, living a life that’s dissolved into a rut where I’m barely a pony.  Maybe if I wasn’t a pony, it would be different.  Maybe I’d be noticed.  Even hate would be better than what I’m getting.  I came to realize that my writing isn’t great.  I could make it nice, but there’s no point.  Rez was always interested in writing and grammar.  He loved proofreading and story making.  Maybe when I’m older, I’ll write into my will that he can have everything I’ve written.  I know he’d have a hayday with all the grammar in this notebook.  Then again, I don’t even know if he still does this type of thing.  Still haven’t heard from him.  Maybe I’ll see what kind of writing I’d be good at.  If anypony would ever read it, of course.