That's a funny word, 'aftermath.' Where does the 'math' part come into it? What does 'math' mean besides 'mathematics'? 'Aftermath' has nothing to do with mathematics. But the 'after' part is so perfectly preserved - it just means 'after' like anybody means 'after,' so that would suggest that the whole word didn't come from some long-ago semi-foreign language that has been horribly corrupted beyond all recognition, like how the word 'villain' comes from the Latin 'villa' meaning 'farmhouse' by way of the French word for 'farmhand,' because apparently farmhands were scoundrels, sometimes, and now villains are more than just scoundrels but seriously evil and usually pretty awesome bad guys, and this sentence has completely lost track of where it used to be.
Anyway. The aftermath.
I'm not even taking math this trimester.
Okay, really. I went back to school today, after my two-day suspension of working in the garage with no entertainment media, which I accepted unquestioningly as the consequence of an action I knew must have consequences, rather than as punishment for a wrong committed. Nobody even knew that I had been suspended, except the teachers, and they were nice about letting me make up the work I missed. School's back to normal. Tomorrow we've got a field trip (walking over to the local university to look at cadavers), and Day of Silence makeups, since apparently the entire club forgot about official Day of Silence or something.
I think everyone but my dad is kind of satisfied with the whole situation. Punching Leigh, exactly when I did and how I did, has given me an incredible sense of closure, which I don't think I could have gotten any other way. I even talked to my therapist (whom I haven't seen in months) about it, and she couldn't think of a better thing I could have done without being a superhumanly mature person able to just accept that sometimes people are weaselly gits and get away with scumbaggery and not let myself be hurt by it. Yeah. All that remains is to convince my dad that a bit of physical communication was exactly what the situation needed. Like sometimes a hug can do what no words possibly could, only negative, and hugs aren't illegal. Except that my dad won't believe that from me or my mom, so we're going to have the therapist talk to him.
An interesting question was raised, though. Was it good that I waited three or four hours between seeing-Leigh-and-feeling-angry and actually-punching-him, or was it bad? Too coldly calculating, or proof that I was in control? I don't know. I'm still glad I did it.
Really I think it was the best possible resolution to the whole relationship, except for the one I had in mind when asking him to prom in the first place. I thought that after four months of not speaking, we would have had enough time to get over any anger or bitterness or lingering whatever that might have been between us, and that we could be civil and spend this one final evening together as nothing more than dance partners, enjoy the evening, and part on a positive note, all wrongs forgiven, the friendship dissolved rather than shattered. That would have been nice, and not too much to expect. But he told me that he didn't want to go to prom with anyone (it had nothing to do with me), and that obviously turned out to be a big fat blatant weaselly scumbaggy lie, and I'm actually glad it was, because a punch in the gut at the stroke of midnight on a memorable evening while dressed in glamorous promclothes is a much better parting than 'I need to go to class' awkwardly exchanged in the choir room at half-past-noon on a mundane Wednesday of no other consequence.
Yeah, I feel good. Better than I have, at least about this, for a long time.
I'm also horribly procrastinating my research essay on archetypal literary criticism. Literally 'procrastinating,' actually, as that comes from the Latin word 'cras,' meaning 'tomorrow,' and the prefix/preposition/whateveritisIdon'tevencare 'pro.' So I'm going to wake up at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning and write my essay, because I'm best at writing essays when I'm still half asleep anyway. Not so much distraction (like the etymology of 'aftermath' - what is that, anyway? now watch me not look it up, and just keep wondering aimlessly) buzzing around my mind, I suppose.
Anyway, goodnight! (Cute little wave and cheerful grin. Yeah I'm really not especially sleepy but I would like to get some sleep before writing that essay, so yeah. Hey, when did I start saying 'so yeah' again, I thought I had given that up a long time ago. Okay, really, now, closing parentheses and leaving.)