![](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Usai9T2-Ex0/TKJWUt7MOjI/AAAAAAAAAGA/WZXG04lx4mw/s200/Confession+Tuesday.jpg)
7:35, the bus picked me up--already late. This is already bending my routine; I normally leave the house at around 7:00 to get to school at around 7:35. I've been much later than usual all week because I have to take the bus. This only happens once in a while but when it does, it makes my life much harder. At least I know that people miss me when I'm late. Just today Diego told me that he needed me to be there early so that he could copy my formula sheet for the math test (which I wouldn't have let him copy anyways) and apparently against his will, he had to copy off of....of...somebody else! God forbid that Diego ever ever has to copy off somebody who is not me ever again!
So back to the bus ride; about 10 minutes after I got on the bus I overheard my bus driver say (in Panamanian): " 'tamos flateados!" This is the unmistakable phrase meaning one thing. Flat tire. We spent at least half an hour watching the driver endeavor to remove the flat tire and failing miserably every time. If that wasn't enough when his hands got all covered in grease, instead of using the restroom of a café right next to the bus, he stood outside palms upward, trying to wash his hands with rain water.
Since, we weren't going to get moving anytime soon, we just sat around and watched a couple of overweight tourists sitting outside the café. They pointed and stared at us without moving at all; it got pretty annoying after a while. When they finally left, we just watched people walk by. They were always either laughing at the bus driver or trying to pretend they didn't notice. But they did, and we could see from their faces that they did. So at around 8:30, another bus came to takes us to school. When we arrived at 8:50 I had already missed all of Spanish and was late to History.
I can't wait for Dad to be back to drop me off at school at a respectable time.
She looked in the mirror.
The cold,
Unforgiving,
Mirror.
Mirror, mirror on the wall…
That exposes what you are;
What you
Look like.
But she,
Sees it differently
Than others do.
Mirror, mirror on the wall…
She
Found a million things wrong
With what she saw.
Mirror, mirror on the wall…
Her hair: greasy, gangly, gross
Her skin: dry, dirty, disgusting
Her lips: slender slivers
Her eyes: uneven, unexceptional, unfavorable
And through her eyes,
She saw
Her soul: doubting, disappointed and turned dormant.
Could there be a fairest one of all?