So begins another year

As many younger than the age of 18 know, school is an unstoppable force. It gobbles you up in August, opens its mouth for air in December/January, and spits you out May (if you’re unlucky June). Well, the vicious cycle begins again, ungodly early, half way through August on the 13^th of that month.

This unfortunate turn of events means that soon my unbridled creativity, free roaming mind, and gobs of free time, will be cut down to (what is sure to be) nil. The reasoning for this drastic cut is that I was foolish when I signed up for classes. I decided I would take Physics and Chemistry this year, I’ll have my friend taking the same classes so we should be able to collaborate on homework because he is incredibly gifted in this area where as I get it but usually after the test. Along with the two sciences I’ll be taking AP English, which proves to be fun since I should be getting the mandatory summer reading books in by the end of this week, giving me approximately one week to read two novels; along with the book list I (along with the rest of the AP kids) have been tasked with filling out a list of 145 AP lit terms, this also has to be completed before school starts, and is vying for time amid my laziness, and the need to read two other books. To top it all off I decided that I would take the Honors Pre-Calc, which jumps me into the “Junior taking Senior Honors level” of snobbery. I thought I would do this so that I could avoid the dead heads who would be plodding through necessary courses. It was revealed to me after I signed up for Pre-Calc Honors that all the dead-heads would be taking Algebra 3, rather than proceeding on into Calculus territory. It was also revealed that while Pre-Calc itself is the class for people who knew the material enough to get atleast a high ‘C’ in Algebra, Pre-Calc Honors is for the kids who easily got an ‘A’ in Algebra. This turn of events made my eyes glaze over and roll up into my head along with needing to sit down, but that’s another tale. I am one of the kids that easily kept an ‘A’ (if somewhat on the > 95% side) in Algebra 2, so my teacher hardly batted an eye when I asked for her signature to get me into the class, she did warn me that I probably should think about not taking too many challenging classes in other areas.

After the sheer foolery of “I kept ‘A’s in my classes all year long, so let’s keep on with the challenging” subsided I realized that I still had one (with a chance of two) slot(s) left to fill for my next school year. I chose a low stress, fun class of Drama 2 followed by Children’s Theater in the Spring; not because I’m a slacker (seep the above paragraph), but because I realized that I needed a fun environment to distress before I went home to try tackling the inevitable mountains of homework that would await me. Before much longer I realized how much I loved hanging out in the music/drama wing/hallway, so I signed up for choir. Surprise, having a good voice makes you advance in the ranks and the choir teacher put me into the concert choir, which is a step up from “Men’s Choir”, though I can’t say it’s much of a step because the person that I (with affectionate hatred in my eyes) refer to as ‘The Prince of Italy’ (because not a day goes by that he reminds me that he is related to the royal lines of Italy, to which I tell him to go to school for rich kids, in Italy, if he indeed is. Which keeps him quiet for the next hour or so) was able to get in with his cracking tenor, somewhat off-key tendencies, and stuttering nature. Those two should be fun, although I now won’t have an off block to study/complete homework/sleep.

That is the state of things as they stand today. And hah, there is in fact real content that goes on this blog rather than a string of “I’m not dead yet” posts.

Congratulations, I’m not copy-editing this, leave a comment if you see a glaring spelling/grammatical errors. Though I doubt you’ll find one because I wrote this in Word, which has a sparkling role-model of a grammar checker, one that makes all other word processors weep at it’s feet.

I bid you, for now, a fairwell.