The Walking Dead

I wake to the sound of rock music. It is a strange sensation, to be waiting calmly in a tacit dream suddenly realize that Led Zeppelin has permeated your meditation. Realization becomes regret as I am dragged from sleep, the dream becomes reality, and I find myself grasping for life like a confused child. Most mornings I clutch it firmly, pulling myself from the tomb of pillows. However 5 hours is not forgiving, and I find myself writhing stiffly from the sepulcher. This morning, life has eluded me.
As I walk through the doors of the high school into a world of fluorescents, I can barely hold down my laughter as I se my own symptoms mirrored in the blank faces of those jostling around me. Welcome to the American High School. A veritable land of the sleep deprived dead. Several things tip me off, and my hand tightens around a sharpened pencil as I take in the facts. The average student here receives between 6 and 4 hours of sleep. In any given class 1 out of 5 students will be wearing sweatpants or pajamas. I see more coffee mugs on desks than text books. The American teenager has done the impossible. We have evolved into something new, a hybrid animal, stuck between nocturnal and diurnal, with less and less time spent daily on rest and increasingly greater time spent on schoolwork, or in more cases than one, social networking. Research tell us that to operate at their full capacity teens need a whopping 9.2 hours of sleep, almost twice as much as the average teen receives nightly. Yet somehow we still manage to crawl out of bed every morning, slog through hours of work, and in some cases even squeeze out 100's. Who knows what we could do at maximum capacity. I'm sure with a seven period schedule and two AP classes, I'll never know.

Its no wonder vampire books are the craze. Contrary to popular belief, its not because we have the chance to picture ourselves as beautiful immortals. Its because the teens in all the gossip girl books aren't nearly extreme enough. Paint me a picture of a night stalking creature, unaccountable for their actions, disconnected with the sunshiney world, and then maybe you've got a closer simile.

I entomb myself again at 10:30, satisfied that with 7 hours of peaceful rest the miracle of life will bless me tomorrow.

Authority

Why do we cheer when we know that our teacher is gone? The word travels like wildfire through the narrow halls: Substitute! Substitute! Yet here I am at my computer, the class engaged in a silent and meaningless study hall under the cruel hand of one such substitute. I can't help but think that if my teacher were here, we would be laughing and chatting as normal, lines of healthy conversation filling this void now insufficiently met by a humming machine.

Embedded deeply inside the consciousness of every teenager is a syndrome which is steadily extending itself to all ages. The yearning for a lack of authority. We relish in the teacher who does not know our name, the note on the door which tells us mother is out, and the joyous tones of the otherwise dissonant school bell. It is what we desire that will truly tell others who we are, and a society of those unwilling to follow the rules when not watched is doomed to flounder in laziness. The class around me comprising of obedient AP students seem to fall like casualties on this battlefield of work. Our loyal band of 15 has now been reduced to a measly 2, as a score of soldiers were lost to the tempting outdoors of distraction, several to the deadly rounds of internet surfing, and my right hand man taking lethal blows as he clicks away furiously, a tricky level of Modern Warfare almost complete. It is no wonder that we are now watched from the dreaded MAC, a pristine room of internet surveillance where your every cyber footstep is traced. We are truly the one guards of our protection, and how can we marvel at firewalls and motion sensors when we immediately check our email when the masters back is turned?

My own guard has slipped, and I too fall wounded on this battlefield, work forgotten.

And....rolling

The curtain opens(all good movie theaters should have a curtain, in my opinion)and the film begins. It is scratchy, not digital. The camera jerks. The cast is huge, all the stunts are real, and the CGI department was replaced with a live zoo. You might even see the zits on the actors face. Welcome to the theater. Welcome to This American Youth.