Big dumb stupid column
My last column and it sucks ass.
This is just so I can retreve it at school, you'd probably benefit from not reading it. It's not even done.
iiiiii'm a big fat retarddddd.
By Megan Wilson
Opinion Editor
It has come to the end of my public school education and I have absolutely nothing to say. Not anything cliché, or witty, or even mildly amusing. I’ve been staring at a blank Word™ document for longer than I care to mention, and all I can think about is standing (or sitting, I’m not entirely sure) in the middle of the football field, draping my entire body with a suffocating, unbreathable fabric. And wearing a funny-looking hat with a little decoration dangling from it. The scary part is, these are the things that excite me now.
Coming from the girl that slipped in the pool at her own baptism, I shouldn’t be one to criticize; but, thirteen years of blood, sweat and tears has led to a complete mental breakdown. You can see it in the gloss-covered eyes of the AP students, still mumbling literary devices under their breath and stumbling through the halls with projects finished at 2AM the night before. I know that high school is supposed to be the most influential time of our lives, but I just can’t wait until this is all over. And no, it’s not because I’m going to Chico State. Alright, so maybe a little bit.
One day, we’re all going to look back on the mind-numbing stress that is associated with the termination of our adolescence (or the scramble raise up that D to achieve a paper that essentially says “you did it!”), and we’re all going to laugh. Hysterically.
But, the truth remains that right now, we’ve reverted back to being newborns - and if you look hard enough… you can see the soft spot on our heads. Really. We’re all going to be Freshman next year (or, for the college-impaired, starting over in some way) -- a refreshing knock down to the bottom of the food chain. This sort of vulnerability can only lead to one thing: unsolicited advice from every person older than you. And cold hard cash from the relatives that couldn’t make it to your graduation.
Sticking to the advice, though, because talking about money is like sex for most people -- (and this fine publication is no place for that) -- everyone older than you is going to feel the need tell you everything they know about the world outside of high school. It doesn‘t matter if they‘re older by a day or 30 years, it doesn‘t even matter if they know you; you are about to become the receptacle of a whirlwind of worldly sermons that serve no purpose other than to train you for 3-hour college lecture classes.
Although they may be boring to sit through, it seemingly epitomizes our time here at El Camino; it’s not the textual information we learned in class (or didn’t learn, AP US History), but the experiences we’ve picked up on the way -- eventually walking across the football field wearing a modified parka. And being extremely proud of it.
This is just so I can retreve it at school, you'd probably benefit from not reading it. It's not even done.
iiiiii'm a big fat retarddddd.
By Megan Wilson
Opinion Editor
It has come to the end of my public school education and I have absolutely nothing to say. Not anything cliché, or witty, or even mildly amusing. I’ve been staring at a blank Word™ document for longer than I care to mention, and all I can think about is standing (or sitting, I’m not entirely sure) in the middle of the football field, draping my entire body with a suffocating, unbreathable fabric. And wearing a funny-looking hat with a little decoration dangling from it. The scary part is, these are the things that excite me now.
Coming from the girl that slipped in the pool at her own baptism, I shouldn’t be one to criticize; but, thirteen years of blood, sweat and tears has led to a complete mental breakdown. You can see it in the gloss-covered eyes of the AP students, still mumbling literary devices under their breath and stumbling through the halls with projects finished at 2AM the night before. I know that high school is supposed to be the most influential time of our lives, but I just can’t wait until this is all over. And no, it’s not because I’m going to Chico State. Alright, so maybe a little bit.
One day, we’re all going to look back on the mind-numbing stress that is associated with the termination of our adolescence (or the scramble raise up that D to achieve a paper that essentially says “you did it!”), and we’re all going to laugh. Hysterically.
But, the truth remains that right now, we’ve reverted back to being newborns - and if you look hard enough… you can see the soft spot on our heads. Really. We’re all going to be Freshman next year (or, for the college-impaired, starting over in some way) -- a refreshing knock down to the bottom of the food chain. This sort of vulnerability can only lead to one thing: unsolicited advice from every person older than you. And cold hard cash from the relatives that couldn’t make it to your graduation.
Sticking to the advice, though, because talking about money is like sex for most people -- (and this fine publication is no place for that) -- everyone older than you is going to feel the need tell you everything they know about the world outside of high school. It doesn‘t matter if they‘re older by a day or 30 years, it doesn‘t even matter if they know you; you are about to become the receptacle of a whirlwind of worldly sermons that serve no purpose other than to train you for 3-hour college lecture classes.
Although they may be boring to sit through, it seemingly epitomizes our time here at El Camino; it’s not the textual information we learned in class (or didn’t learn, AP US History), but the experiences we’ve picked up on the way -- eventually walking across the football field wearing a modified parka. And being extremely proud of it.