2019-2020 Archive [Completed]

What a terrible day to have eyes.

Jimmy A Martin had a crippling addiction to children.

Okay, maybe I didn't phrase that too well. Jimmy A Martin is the name of this guy I knew. The A stands for this word that's too hard to say plainly without you sounding like a sneezing lizard, and he didn't like it when people called him that. So we call him Jimmy, and we stop at the y. Also, Jimmy had autism. I'm not too good at introducing other people unless they're called Chris Lovett(me), and besides, Jimmy gets touchy if I go on about all his life. But the thing I want to talk about right here is a rather bewildering thing that happened last summer. And it includes Jimmy, autism, a train, and my pre-puberty summer voice.

Now, if autism sounds like a stupendously huge thing to have in your brain, it's because it is. While it's some fancy-schmancy words doctors like to use, it's also like a horse pill to swallow. Mrs. Sherry said that it basically happens one of your chromosomes--which is basically your DNA--either duplicates, deletes, or inverses itself. A chromosome is basically like the directions you put in Google Maps. When one of your chromosomes go wonk, like, real wonk, and they start squiggling and twisting and stretching awfully weirdly, bad things can happen to your brain. And that's like arriving at that weird girl who's obsessed with horses and the armpits of Justin Beiber's house when you really wanted to go to Pizza Hut[1].

However, that makes Jimmy all freaky and weird-looking, when he really wasn't, so we just say he has autism and that's all. We leave the children part, however, because (1)Mrs. Sherry was pretty darn sensitive and that putting 'likes' and 'children' in the same sentence makes him look like a weird pedophile with a child's head(It didn't help that he was black, too). And it seems all bizarre how I wrote it in italics, but that's how the 20 kids in Mrs. Sherry's math 6th-grade class said it because it was supposed to be a serious matter, young man[2]. Only that it wasn't funny-sounding anymore, and that was a real shame since everything in 6th grade was supposed to be funny.

But is everything funny in 6th grade when Jimmy got pulled out to go to therapy while he was still crying and snot was everywhere on his shirt because he couldn't stack up those cups for the 1500th time? Was it funny when he couldn't stop staring at those children on Barney the Dinosaur's TV show[3]? Was it funny when he showed me all those scars from the operation his parents thought he wouldn't survive?

Well, no, even if he obviously survived all the operations and the humiliation of 6th grade and above, because, if he didn't, I would've just written that Jimmy A Martin had a hard name to pronounce and had this thing called Autism. But this book is obviously not over yet, because you're still reading this sentence. Plus, there are like 7 more pages to read.

Even though Jimmy saw syringes and scalpels like how you and I see broken ice-cream vending machines, there was a multitude of problems too. Like, the guy was skinny. And by skinny, I mean that he was skinnier and leaner and tremendously thinner than anything skinny, lean, and thin you could think of. The cool thing is that he could disappear into any nook and cranny, which I guess is useful when you wrap your head around it because it meant that the guy could face right and totally disappear. Like Amelia Earhart, or Tupac[4].

Jimmy also had a hard time listening and learning in class, which meant that he had to have this therapist, which was just this girl in 11th grade called Rebecca Barns. But we call her Ms. Rebecca without the r because she's not a married woman, and because Mrs. Sherry says it's polite. Rebecca was a real nice lassie and all, and she seemed intelligent, 'cause she worked at the psychiatrist thingie, which was also impressive[5]. I learnt a lot of things from her, like Cognitive Dissonance[6], Genderalization[7], and Political Studies[8]. She seemed okay, but she had too frizzy hair and her front teeth protrude out way too much.

Rebecca also asked me to come on over to her house a few days ago, which I found really strange since my mom said that grown women don't look for young boys to come to their houses unless it's for Halloween[9]. However, Rebecca typed it all in a nice little email and asked her if I could join her for an intimate discussion on your classmate Martin, preferably on his mental health, accompanied by some biscuits, tea, and water, which I replied, yes, of course, why not, Ms Rebecca, see you there, because I wanted to be polite, and this was about Jimmy. Besides, I felt darn important thinking about how essential I was to Ms. Rebecca as a whole since she typed an email with the Dear Mr. Lovett, which was equally nice[10].