Today was pretty fucking oppressive. Last night was so wonderful, and today was a contrast day, the morning after to an orgasmic, passionate day filled with knitting, lovely weather, soft calamari and Christmas lights.

But today, by contrast, was blank. Not light or dark, nothing distinguishable about the weather or the atmosphere. I felt strange when I woke up, but not particularly bad.

I had a dream about being a guest to the military school that I attended when I was a freshman. I had to sleep in my car and had two male roommates(?), who were also visiting the school. Despite the fact that I was not a cadet, I had to parade around in cadetish form, clicking my heels at corners and running everywhere. The imagery was so intense, I know that this motion has been permanently inscribed into the soft pink tissues of my brain.

Click. Trot trot trot. Click. Rinse and repeat.

And it doesn't bother me, but it makes for some strange dreams from time to time. The school is in Roswell, NM, which is less that three hours away from where my boyfriend is studying now. In my hazy dream mind, I placed this real-world fact along with all of the muddle, and was planning to sneak out in my car (room?) to see him and be back before morning formation. I had forgotten my two roomates, however, who were relying on my Corolla for a good night's rest. I think they would have been better off outside, but I woke up before I could make a decision.

So that was my dream. Then I got a call from the counselor at the high school. I drove up to visit her before I had to be at class at noon, and she gave me my National Merit certificate and told me that I was to be honored at the school board meeting this very evening.

As my classes droned on through the day, I formulated all sorts of speeches I could give while I had their attention. I could rant about their arbitrary policies or gripe about teaching to standardized tests to my hearts' content, I thought. Surely my being in the top 3% of the nation would give my opinions some weight at the school board meeting.

I was knitting in the foyer as I watched them file in. All painted up and polished in the style of the wife on "American Beauty." They were joking about a less fortunate school that had been flooded earlier in the day and exchanging reports on the latest scores for some athletic competition. I stared at them. Hard. My needles click clicked, long sharp silver things, winding black and gray yarn into a loose stockinette stitch that was becoming tighter as one after the other avoided my gaze as they signed the Guestbook. One brave trustee walked up to me and said something like, "hey there kiddo, what's going on?" But his tone, like my attitude, was defiant, and only a show with a definite purpose. His tone buckled under my lowered one, telling him that I was insulted by his referencing me in such a loud and diminutive way.

Then, my principle entered. This man is admittedly a number-cruncher. He is there to advise the board members about programs and statistics and has very little to do with the student body, despite his misguided attempts to associate himself with our every achievement.

He walks up to me, and my glare doesn't falter. Not angry, but contemptuous, I shoot icicles through my eyes into his watery blue ones. Nice man, but I don't like being patronized. Click click. He slaps his stack of papers against the outturned sole of my boot, and smiles and says he is glad I am here, loud, so that everyone knows it. But he wasn't so glad when I petitioned to have several arbitrary policies lifted, and he wasn't so glad when I went to the board, but luckily, they were all too glad to ignore me. He was very glad when I stepped from his hallowed halls into dimmer, less funded ones only weeks ago to accelerate my course work. I know he would love not having to hear another teacher bitch about me walking out, or calling them when they lied, or defamed a student, or went off on irrelevant tangents during class time. He breathed a sigh of relief heard all over the school, without the help of the PA system.

Quite frankly, though, so did I. I was tired, I had been ignored, and I had decided that they simply weren't worth my time, especially now that it looked like they would be getting more of it than I had planned. But they had me tonight. I told the only other NMS qualifier, who was sitting to my right, also without any family beside him, that I couldn't figure out whose back was being patted at this meeting. I could, though. I have strong reasoning skills, right, College Board?

So I sat in front of the beaming track star and his entire extended family, click clicking. They announced that a picture of this fine kiddo would be hung on the "wall of fame" in the administrative building. He placed ninth at the state meet, after all. Yeah? Well I placed in a track meet of a million. I liked this kid, and I didn't particularly like their wall, but shit, I had run far and hard to be given twelve powdered handshakes and a very thin, pre-printed piece of paper with the sentence :

Through your efforts you have brought positive recognition to this school district for your distinction as a...

Followed by my distinction in bold. The track guy got the same sheet of paper, only instead of the words "National Merit Scholar", his sentence was followed by "State Cross Country Competitor." And he got his photo tacked on the wall.

We stood up, shook hands, and were escorted out. When I got to my car I cried. I knew I was just a passing thought to them, and they were just a passing thought to the district, and we were all just a passing thought to the world, and our world just the same to the universe... but... I hate being patronized. And my little sheet of paper was patronization, printed, and soon to be framed. I will frame it. Then, years from now, when it doesn't matter anymore and the Board of Trustees and their stupid drivel won't help me pay for school anymore, I will take the thing of the wall, save the frame, and burn the paper with a Zippo lighter. I may even come back and scatter the ashes on the school yard, because it's all just drivel, just thoughts, and time makes trash of all things. Some things are just trash in the first place.