stolen from this random blog:

SUCCESS:
At age 4 success is . . . not peeing in your pants.
At age 12 success is . . . having friends.
At age 16 success is . . . having a drivers license.
At age 20 success is . . . having sex.
At age 35 success is . . . having money.
At age 50 success is . . . having money.
At age 60 success is . . . having sex.
At age 70 success is . . . having a drivers license.
At age 75 success is . . . having friends.
At age 80 success is . . . not peeing in your pants.

Hmm...now, just change 16 to...oh, I dunno, 20, and you'd be a little closer to the truth. But not really- my driver's test is in May, and the parent actually asked me if I wanted to drive around the block for a little while today. This is progress. Before she wouldn't even sit in the same car with me driving.

I didn't think I would feel so anxious for my liscence before; it used to be 'eh, driving, whatever', but now it's more like 'dammit, I wanna liscence!' I just want to hop in the car and drive away, away, and even further away. Don't care where, just- away.

Y'know how, at recess in elementary school, everyone would either wander around on the asphalt or the playground (depending on whether it was a 'recess' or 'recreation' day...) or play soccer (or Power Rangers, as the grade level determined)? I always hated soccer- I'd either play Sharks* on the old playground, keep score while other people played Gladiators** on the new playground (until they got yelled at by the teacher for horseplay), or look for rocks. But I'd have to walk through the soccer game to get to the playground, and it would always be my class against another class, and they'd always yell at me when I walked by. I hated playing soccer, because I had friends and enemies in both classes, and most of my enemies were in my class, among the soccer players. Sometimes the ball would end up kicked in my general direction, and I'd just kick it back- once I kicked it directly to the star soccer player of the wrong team.

Got yelled at quite a bit for that one- "You kicked it right at Chris! How could you! We lost because of that! Traitor!" To which I'd always reply "I'm not on your team, I'm on whichever team wins!" Yeah. I was an opportunist like that. Not particularly admirable, but I like to think I've gotten past that particular phase in my life- until I realize that I've gotten worse. Anyway.

I still don't like to choose sides. I hate it- be it in sports or arguments, I hate choosing sides. Especially when I can see reason in both: so, maybe she doesn't have the right to invade your privacy, but she was just asking- you could have simply told her the truth. Maybe he was being an asshole, but you weren't exactly being an angel, either. Who's friend am I? Sometimes, no one's, apparently.

Take the whole parking debacle going on at school (half the parking lot is reserved for teachers and other people who never show up, and going to school in the morning is a mess because of it)- everyone else bitches and moans about needing a parking permit, and I agree that the administration is being an idiot about it, but it actually is a good idea. I still bitch about being late to school because it inconveniences people who get dropped off in the morning, too, but I can still understand where they're coming from with this.

I usually can understand both sides of the argument- call it my Libra tendencies rising to the fore despite the fact that I'm a Virgo in denial and a Scorpio in disguise. Whatever it may be, I simply do not feel comfortable choosing sides; however, I find myself faced with a situation in which I desperately do not want to choose sides. Despite what my natural inclination would have me do, my head knows perfectly well which side I would choose, and which side I would repudiate.

I don't want it to come to that. I really don't want it to come to that. I just don't see how it's avoidable, though...*cries*