(no subject)
My roommate and I are currently lamenting the challenge that school provides these days. Elementary school was so much easier! I remember, I never studied for anything (except spelling, my pride, joy, and passion) and the work was so slim. Well, that was until fifth grade when I started getting stress headaches. I kid you not, it was a very stressful year! The fifth grade teachers at Wyngate had a formidable reputation for being terribly difficult. I will never forget those pictures I lost when I ran for Student Council secretary. So sad.
I'm flipping out because I haven't written a book review since middle school, and I'm writing one now, 500 words, that is worth 20% of my grade. That's like 10% for every quarter of a page. Oh my God! That means perfection in every word and I have already shown myself to be uninspired in Atlantic history. Just goes to show, I only do really well when I'm interested and... I'm not. There went my comps. Oops. It's not like it's that hard, either. I mean. Book. Review. I already read the book, presented, and answered questions for 45 minutes. And that was only 15%! Crazy teachers. Although I like Andrew. Serena less. Which is why I'm not writing about 18th century piracy in the Americas for my comps. Because I'm not very fond of Serena. And I love Jamie. Moving on.
Fuzzyfuzzyfuzzyfuzzyfuzzy! I'm generally happy, even with all the stuff going on. I just deleted the word 'stress' so I wouldn't think about it. And then defeated the point by typing it again, uh-oh. I need some tea. But the point is, I'm actually very happy. Like, pretty. I feel fuzzy. Mostly. And this is good. There's a certain amount of freedom involved in firmly closing one chapter of life and opening the door to the next. I mean, depending on how I bind my chapters, it's not like I'll ever undo or forget about or cease to be the person I became from all my time abroad this past year. It's just... good that I'm finally all the way here.
I'm flipping out because I haven't written a book review since middle school, and I'm writing one now, 500 words, that is worth 20% of my grade. That's like 10% for every quarter of a page. Oh my God! That means perfection in every word and I have already shown myself to be uninspired in Atlantic history. Just goes to show, I only do really well when I'm interested and... I'm not. There went my comps. Oops. It's not like it's that hard, either. I mean. Book. Review. I already read the book, presented, and answered questions for 45 minutes. And that was only 15%! Crazy teachers. Although I like Andrew. Serena less. Which is why I'm not writing about 18th century piracy in the Americas for my comps. Because I'm not very fond of Serena. And I love Jamie. Moving on.
Fuzzyfuzzyfuzzyfuzzyfuzzy! I'm generally happy, even with all the stuff going on. I just deleted the word 'stress' so I wouldn't think about it. And then defeated the point by typing it again, uh-oh. I need some tea. But the point is, I'm actually very happy. Like, pretty. I feel fuzzy. Mostly. And this is good. There's a certain amount of freedom involved in firmly closing one chapter of life and opening the door to the next. I mean, depending on how I bind my chapters, it's not like I'll ever undo or forget about or cease to be the person I became from all my time abroad this past year. It's just... good that I'm finally all the way here.