Tick…Tick…Tick. Ac-hoo! Cough, Cough! Hahaha! Screech! Ow! Tickachoocoughcoughahahascreechow!!!!! I try and concentrate on my elderly history teacher’s lecture about the--Cough!! The what? Oh, yeah, the ancient African civilizations. Trying to block out the aversive commotion, I slowly attempt to take notes in my carefully laid out journal. My handwriting is slow and laborious, taking ages to complete. “Now, class, tomorrow you will have an essay due over the African civilizations that you should have been actively paying attention and taking notes on. Hmm Hmm.” My teacher directs a blameworthy repugnant cough towards me, further stirring up anger inside of me. But, I thought, it’s not my fault James was coughing, or Mary was cackling at Elizabeth’s lame joke about monkeys. They were the ones to blame. Right? Those ignorant teens that hurt my ears were going to pay. Hmph. Hum bug. Rats. I’m in quite the predicament here. Do I gather up all my boiling rage and pour the tea kettle over the students and teacher? My mood can change faster than your heart can beat. Or, do I go the boring, yet socially acceptable, way of acting as if nothing is wrong- ‘Yes, teacher, whatever you say’ with a fake pearly smile plastered over my face? How is a girl to choose? How is a girl with Mood Disorder, Aspergers, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and Sensory Processing Disorder supposed to make up her mind with apprehensive worries and angers? I chose to do what I always do. Earplugs firmly in place, I kept silent and portrayed myself as a normal teenage girl who doesn’t get extemporaneously bothered by noises or can’t keep up in note taking. I stay seated in my germ infested desk. You know, the one who the kid named Charlie with the allergies who sits in my desk before me? Yeah, his germs plus all of the other careless students.’ Filled with disgust, I anxiously peered at the clock, careful to avoid my scorching teacher’s eyes. 3:45, the middle and long hands displayed. Five more minutes and I would be out of there! Waiting, I scan the classroom and wonder, Why does everybody else not get bothered like I do? How in the whole wide Earthly world can they block out noises and focus? HOW?? I continue to ponder my thoughts, looking at each peer’s face and body language carefully. I’m pretty good at reading body language, if I do say so myself. Bobby over there has had a rough day, while Clare, who is drooling, is helplessly infatuated with Mark the Quarterback. Taking these observations into mind, I try and detangle them. How could Bobby’s day be bad? I mean, why should I care? It’s not my problem if his parents are divorced, or if his cat just died. Why is Annie over there asking him if he’s okay? Why don’t I feel that way? I also meditate on the thought of ‘teenage love.’ How can Clare have such strong feelings for Mark? Sure, he’s got an awesome body, but what about what’s on the inside? Oh, why bother? Love won’t last. Heck, I don’t even know if love is real. Why would one want to be obligated to another at all times? These thoughts cloud my head, and before I know it, the blaring bell rings, signaling me that class is dismissed. I slowly gather up my belongings, due to my poor motor skills. As usual, I am the last to exit the mucky smelling classroom. I surreptitiously avoid eye contact with my white haired teacher, afraid of confrontation. I sigh a wave of relief as I open the door into the wide, spring scented hallways. Free, at last! Free from anger, irritability, noises! Free from the teacher, the students, the restricted environment! Now, time to go home. Welcome home to the anger, irritability, and noises. Welcome home to the sensory overload, the germs, and the misunderstandings. Welcome home to the arguments, the controlling attitude, the hatred. Welcome to my world.