Don't ask me questions. Especially when I don't feel like answering.
We are very behind on our deadline in yearbook. At the beginning of class, out of one hundred pages, we had a grand total of fourteen done.
"Aren't you so proud?" Ms. McBride sneered, as she put them in the box to send to the plant. I wanted to cry.
So Mallory, Robert, Anne, Mark, Mara, and I skipped the pep rally and worked our butts off to finish as much as we could. Some of the stories SUCK, but we now have sixty pages done, which is way better than the amount we had at the beginning of the period.
Some of the stories are so horrible, though. I now understand why Mallory and Ms. McBride said they wanted to cry when reading them.
I feel so bad too, because it's very possible that this yearbook could blow. Unless half of the stories can be completely rewritten....oh man. It might be very, very, very, very embarrassing. And it's like we'd be letting Ms. McBride down, not to mention, um, EVERYONE who buys a yearbook.
I know I talk obsessively about the "y" word. Sorry.
So....hm.
Last night I had a nightmare that I got a "C" on my world history exam which gave me a "C" in the class. I woke up crying. It's a bit creepy when you start dreaming about your grades. That definitely means there's too much school.
Spirit week is next week, and I am siked times ten. Jessica, Anne, Erin, myself, and anyone else who wants to might wear tights and tutus Monday. Which will be awesome if we do.
But I need to see my dear!
And garage sale.
And hair cut, oh my.