Dreamt last night that I went back to visit my high school.
Everything was the same, except that my biology teacher from freshman year—Mr. Hall—looked exactly like one of my supervisors at work, except in a sweater (my supervisor wouldn’t wear a sweater, especially not a maroon one).
Mr. Hall let me know that he’d forgotten to tell me one of my essays from that year seemed like it could have been plagiarized. Despite my numerous assurances that I’ve never plagiarized anything, he couldn’t bring himself to believe me, and said that it didn’t look like I’d passed freshman year bio after all, which meant that I technically never graduated high school.
“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you.”—Frida Kahlo (via elige)