Today's word of the day is mimesis. 

Worst gift I ever got, that stupid word of the day calendar; as if anyone is actually going to use those million dollar words and somehow manage to not make it sound like you're showing off. I used to try using the words on the librarians, but it only takes one instance of them smiling while staring dead-eyed towards you to realize when effort is being wasted. I normally have a fine rapport with the librarians, I think they're just grateful that a student actually helps out and handles some of the more...social aspects of the position. I'm on a first name basis with them and it always makes me sigh when I connect that fact with the thought that these aging school employees are, in all seriousness, probably the closest things I have to friends. 

Though I guess that isn't exactly true in a technical sense. 

Much like the idiom, I find myself at a crossroads. If I had to self identify I'd fall under the title of a brain, a poindexter, any number of synonyms; and while my academic record is certainly impressive, impressive enough to land me on the honor roll every semester thus far, I'm somehow not smart enough to hang with the smartest of the bunch. The problem is that though I'm an almost straight-A student (why I need to take an art class of all things to graduate is beyond me, thanks for tanking my grade point average, Monet), I am not in honors courses. A very selective lot, those courses and students. Because of this I find myself qualifying myself as the smartest person among the normals. And though I've never said that aloud, it comes across in my actions and so woe is me, too dumb for the geniuses and too smart for the averages. It only takes a week of eating alone in the cafeteria to realize you don't want to do that.

And so I found my way to the roof. 

I didn't want to eat in the library office, listening to gossip heard on daytime talk shows, and I could do without the whispers behind my back, so the roof was practically my only option outside of going out of school bounds. I guess I lucked out since I wasn't the only one who sought the roof. While the librarians might be my closest friends, the so-called Cliqueless -not my first choice for a name but it'll do - make a decent case for themselves. Not including myself there are four others, each from a different walk of life. It's easy to get along with someone when you're not feeling obligated to prove how much more intelligent you are. 

Today, like most days, I find myself on the roof with the other members, enjoying my grandma's baked sugar cookie when the final member, Madame Dork herself. I'm only half listening to her, the succulent taste and texture of my dessert holds more of my attention. Some crumbs fall onto the book I was reading, it's about anatomy, I've got a test at the end of the week, and quickly I brush them off before they fall into the center crease. 

"I went to a dance once," I respond, catching the barest amount of what was being brought up, "But technically it was a wedding and I had to dance with my cousin because I wasn't allowed to just sit at the table. I've sworn off dancing ever since. Nothing against it, I just don't think gyrating around in close proximity to someone with a reliance on overpriced colognes while distorted sounds bounce around in a room with terrible acoustics counts as dancing." I stop to take a breath. That was a full few sentences. They must be rubbing off on me. I take another bite of my cookie before swiping away the crumbs and following my thought with another, this time with a mouthful of cookie. "Plus, my only understanding of dance comes from old musicals my grandma likes, and I'm not comfortable attempting that level of mimesis."

Take that, you stupid calendar.