Clio’s Final Goodbye

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Clio’s Final Goodbye

Alice Knowlton, Writer

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Once upon a time, there was a salt molecule. One baby NaCl in a world of blandness. This salt molecule would go on to conquer the world and bring about an age of properly preserved foods and taste metaphors for states of mind. I was not this salt molecule. But I respect it. No, I started out one mere salty freshman, who, through an inexplicable lack of friends and an even less explicable abundance of free time, took to bemoaning and satirizing at length and with brilliance the trials of high school life. Anyone who’s been reading since the beginning might shed a tear at the thought of my evolution over these few years— though most of you probably only pick up an installment here and there out of boredom, or because of that one time when I went off on the field house. I’ve been sour, sweet, bitter, and as (un)savory as reasonable censorship will allow, so I guess it’s time for me to be a little sweet. While I cannot pretend that high school has been a cakewalk, or even a stale wheat bread walk (after all, I’m not on the Disney channel), I must admit that enduring such a moody, uncomfortable, stressful, and ego-crushing odyssey has made me into the brilliant, confident woman I am today.

My soliloquies nearly always have a point, however deeply it may be buried, and today my point is this: you can complain all you want about homework, and turkeys, and siblings, and houses with fields in them, but ultimately things will get better and then you’ll have to get more creative with your grievances. I can no longer complain about not having friends, or about embarrassing myself in front of my hot neighbor (though I can complain that he moved to Springfield), or even about college, though that might change once the papers start piling up. All of these improvements to my life have left me rather panicked. Where’s the negativity to which I once clung? If I’ve gone soft, what’s left to keep my enemies from coming after me? I know that I have to do something, and thus, here is a list of a few ways in which my life still manages to suck from time to time.

  1. Turkeys. Are they extinct yet? Nope.
  2. There’s an old haunted Spike the Bulldog costume in the track and field office (not that I’d know) and I swear that thing lays a curse on any unfortunate soul that stares too long into its fraying felt eyes.
  3. What the heck kind of weather is this? Where are we, Atlantis? If I wanted to be soaked in cold rain every day I’d have accepted that vampire hunting gig in Washington State.
  4. Somewhere on this earth lives the person who dreamt up “Detective Pikachu,” and they are now most likely too wealthy to be brought to justice for their crimes.
  5. I’m graduating in less than a month, and little as I thought I would, I enjoyed my time at Bancroft, and little as I want to, I know I’ll miss it.
  6. Rick Devens didn’t win Survivor.
  7. The bagpiper cometh and there is no escape.

Ah, I feel better now, knowing that the world is still plenty bleak for those who seek to find it thus. What does anyone ultimately look for in their lives, but something they can count on? I’ve been on a journey of pessimism and wit ever since my clumsy debut four-odd years ago, and now that I find myself at the end, it’s difficult to know what I can say to sum it up in glory and majesty which befits its scope and grandeur. Let me state that to be miserable before an appreciative audience has been one of my high school career’s greatest joys, and as I’ll soon be vanishing into the mist like Mufasa, I’m not even embarrassed to say so publicly. But that’s enough of that. I’d hardly be taking the advice of the Mulan end credits song and being “true to my heart” if I didn’t also take this opportunity to say SO LONG, SUCKERS!!! I’m really leaving now, and I won’t be coming back, but you can always find me if you simply can’t manage alone. Look under the “Entertainment” tab. Or you could always write to me, care of my agent, but his filing system involves alligators and Cafe du Monde’s recipe for beignets so I can’t promise that your love letters will make their way to me. That may be best, though. Ultimately, no one is ever as sad to say goodbye to the past as they feel they ought to be because once the human mind crosses a threshold, it’s already preparing itself for the predators, pitfalls, and promises of the next room. I’ll see you in there, folks.

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