I love band camp, Drewman, it is a good thing. Only we didn't sing on the band camp bus, we sang after we won Grand Champion (woohoo!) and I march toe heel. Anyway... doesn't it suck when teachers read things out loud that you don't want them to read. Like my god-awful first attempt at a Bio essay? That was mortification. And today, when Friedman asked me to read my AP writing for the conclusion, and then told me to read the whole thing - one sentence into it, he remembered why he gave it a 7. Love was wonderful, I said, in addition to other things, blah blah blah, that eventually did get to the point that John Donne did not feel this way. BUT I'm always too afraid to have run-ons when I write for grades, so I broke up my sentence, and there you have it, a big fat 7. Which will get me a 5 on the AP test come may, I'm assured. 3 7's and a hell of a multiple choice. But who knows how things will turn out. Next time I need an 8. And there is a god, somehow, I did better than Drew did on something, for once, besides summer crap I poured 9 pages of my biological soul into. Or was it 14? I don't know... BUT I fully understood Economics (for some reason) and thus I got a 95 in the class, which is pretty good for 5 hours of summer school a day, with a teacher who hates you and is CONVINCED you are cheating off Oupei. But alas, it was not so, he was just a military jerk. Ask anyone. I have no more good news, except that I get to go to bed early tonight, which is an awesome beyond awesome idea. That and Senior Superlative voting is almost over, and soon we will all know that I truly am the most stressed female at our school. I hope. Some people put Kristen Dennison.... I'm confused. I want the damn superlative! Blake Daniel told me I was too happy - I told him it was just a front.

Tear drop 12:46 AM of Sarah

I asked Mr. Wade about Senior Superlatives today, and he said that they are definately NOT nominated by the teachers. They are all nominated by the members of the senior class. The teachers nominate the 10 Outstanding Seniors. I would just like to say that you had all better nominate me for Most Stressed Out, because as about 30 people signed my yearbook last year saying that they would vote for me, it woud suck not to get nominated. I left my AP Euro book at school, doesn't that suck, I need to do my homework. Ick. But on the other hand, I will be going to bed *early* tonight, because I only have to read and do notes on my Bio stuff before I can. Maybe I'll even start reading The Prince by Machiavelli. Could be a good idea, seeing as how a paper on it is due on Monday. Great news, I can get into college, Ms. Durden gave me info about a 1,000 different scholarships I'm eligible for (including one for lefties, isn't that neat?) and then proceeded to delve deeply into my completely screwed up transcript. I had someone elses French grades, and they gave me 3.5 credits first semester of freshman year, apparently I was in treble chorus twice a day. Now everything is fixed (I hope) and it's safe to send the lovely transcript off to Hobart and William Smith. Early decision is due so SOON! Agh!

Tear drop 10:54 PM of Sarah

Hmmm. Something tells me it's bad when I get to the Sunday night before the second week of school, and I already don't care about my schoolwork. Perhaps I should work on this.

Tear drop 11:37 PM of Sarah

I fear that my arm may fall off within the next 24 hours due to the fact that it has been annotating all day, and still has 201 pages to go. Now I liked the Prince of Tides, I really did. That's why I read it through, and THEN decided to annotate it. Which was a bad idea, because now I'm struggling to finish the stupid thing, and do my normal weekend homework. It's sick, twisted, and sadistic that teachers believe that weekend homework should be comprised of all the assignments they would expect you to complete during a week. I might kill myself before I finish, I have that much left to do. In other news, I fear that my parents have turned off the air conditioning vents in my room, because even with the fan on it's stifling in here, and I may die from natural causes instead of a suicide attempt. It used to be so cold in here that my toes turned blue and I couldn't wear shorts or tank tops. Now, I'm melting. My arm still feels funny, but I think I'm going to go manufacture a few journal entries for Mr. Friedman. I wish I could be at Laura's right now, having fun with the boys and staying up all night doing happy things, but no, I'm stuck in a stifling room with massive amounts of homework. Welcome to my senior year.

Tear drop 1:40 AM of Sarah

Every day I listen to the same music on the CD player, whether it happens to be in my car or Mr. Brown's, it matters not. And now that I can finally take a break from the insanity and stress and hell and lack-of-sleep/ulcer inducing world that is my senior year in high school, I am going to make a small mix for my car. Because tomorrow is the first day I get to drive MY car to school. No more Acura's that have digital navigation systems and parking brakes that you can drive with on, and keys that you have to press into the console in order to get them OUT of their position. I like my silly car, it's too big for me, when I'm by myself, kind of like what Amy said about her dad's truck once: little girl, big car. I like that idea. And Layla is so comfortable with me. She's gold, and I don't have to worry about eating breakfast in the car, though I do have to worry about eating, as today proved, and I can bop, and drive until she's out of gas and then some, and drink stuff in the car, and generally not worry about it quite as much. Because she's mine and I can feel her fluidity beneath my fingers. But school, on the other hand, has not one iota of fluidity. I don't think it's even located in its dictionary. School is well, interesting. I didn't think that things could be crazier than last year, but I was wrong. So, following Drew's example, I'll tell you about my classes.
Honors French 4 Just the name strikes fear into my heart. Madame Cline, first period. How much more terrifying can you get? I'm not too sure, but parler-ing in class all the time and staring at her going, "WHAT?" inside my brain, certainly lends to some interesting morning theatricals as I struggle to stay awake. And Billy Newbold is in my class. Eeew.
AP Bio AP Bio is fun. But it is stress city. Studying has proved itself to be my friend, rather than my enemy, so far, but you never know. We've only had one quiz, with a test on Friday. Yippee. And Dr. Adams is VERY energetic and loud, which is fun stuff. And Nick Castillo and Drew are in my class, and that is just about has happy-boppy fun in the morning as you can get.
AP Stats Stats is a way cool class, so much less math oriented than that scary math you all are taking. I am so glad that Jones said to me, "You can handle the material. But you'll kill yourself with the stress." Very blunt man. And I happen to miss him as well, because he actually calmed me down. You've no idea how many cups of coffee that man has donated to my cause. But enough said, Mrs. Augustyn is great, and highly witty. Her son, Mike, is none of these things. But I get off topic, so, here we go! And Sterling and Pennington are in my class, which pleases me greatly.
AP Euro When Serkie stopped by the other day during study hall, did anyone else get a HUGE enormous pang of homesickness. Because Euro is fun, but APUSH was much more fun. Crockett is nice, but Serkie was FABULOUSA. She rocked my socks off as she drank her tea and spouted details a million miles a minute. And studying the capitals of European countries is not exactly my idea of a great thing to do at one in the morning. I think it needs to be more organized. But who knows, maybe it's just an introductory phase. And what's with that weird DBQ?
Ceramics 1 I relax! Thank GOD for Mr. Paris, because Mr. Paris is the man on which all the art gods and humanity gods shine. He understands that I freak out a lot, and today, he let me go to the clinic before the bell rang and stay there all through class. Because that whole not eating thing I accidetally pulled for 24 hours, and then the chicken tenders at lunch did not go over well with my stomach, who craved Alka-Seltzer like you would not believe. (Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, OH what a relief it is!) but the bitchy nurse said, "no, we're closed, we can't give you anything, come back when we're open." So I go back downstairs the long way, and run into Ms. Hammack, who asks me what's wrong, which promptly starts me crying. And so I cried on her futon for a good half hour, and slept the other half. Ms. Hammack is a goddess.
AP Lit If I hadn't already decided to become a Lit teacher, I would have during the first 5 minutes of my 6th period class on Monday. Because Mr. Friedman knows how to work the crowd. He is awesome and amazing, and I can definately understand why he is referred to as the senior experience. Though I would have been just as glad to have Mr. Wade (Haroun and the Sea of Stories was MY contribution to your curriculum, Wadesters), Mr. Friedman is too cool for words. A perfect way to end the day, 6th period discussing literature and allusions out the wazoo. But darn if annotating the Prince of Tides will not take forever and a year this weekend. Thank god I've already read it.

I'm off to bed now, but on a funny story. Sophomore year I had Algebra 2 with Mrs. McAlister, 6th period. She would always let us line up early, and so one day we piled in front of the door. Jorge Cerda was in my class, and he and I were always play fighting, mocking, "I can take you down" (me too him), and him, "Yeah right." So this afternoon we play fight, and he's pulling me or something, and he let's go, and I balance for a minute, but then I fall flat on my back. And so I'm on the floor with my massive backpack on me, and that huge black bag I used to call a purse, and I can't stand up. The class is on the ground with laughter. I've never been more humiliated, but it was a funny story. I was Amy's tortoise for an afternoon.




Tear drop 1:12 AM of Sarah

I promised Amy that I would blog before I went to bed, so here it is. I would have liked to write a separate blog on the first day of school, but I'm too tired. So here's a copy of my first journal entry for Mr. Friedman. Enjoy.

Today was the first day of my last year in high school. It’s very scary to think about that. All my childhood, I looked forward to graduating, to making it all the way through school, with the world out and open in front of me. But now that I’ve reached this threshold, I realize that all I want in the world is to be a first grader again, staring at the world in amazement. I’m not ready to let go of the stability that being a teenager has brought to me. I’m not ready to crawl out of my mother’s lap, remove myself from the comfort of my father’s hugs. I like getting up at 6 every morning and going to school, and taking way too many AP classes, and stressing out to the point where I lose clumps of hair. I like participating in too many after school activities, working, joking around, partying with friends, driving crazily, staying out late on school nights, living with my baby sisters, and having a secure netting of friends to fall into whenever I need them. As soon as I slip into that car next August, the car crammed full of boxes and bags containing the only articles I have to define myself, I will be releasing myself from the only security that I have ever known. I will be leaving my eternal playmates behind, I will no longer share a bathroom with my younger sister. My baby sister, beautiful and innocent in her first year of high school, will be without my guidance, my constant support. My room, yellow, sunshine-y and full of life will be shut up and abandoned for the months of the year that I attend college. As I type these words out, I realize how silly it is for me to be thinking of these sad things, that I should instead be focusing on my AP Biology quiz, and my AP Euro homework. The time for the eulogies of my childhood is in May, when the impending pinnacle of my grade school career is as close as it will ever be. But as I am a sentimental person and prone to spells of weeping, whether it be caused by rapture or great loss, these entries will become staples to my journal, a small form of therapy for my childish soul. The miracle baby is growing up.

Tear drop 12:23 AM of Sarah

My friends, it is the eve of the first day of school, our last that we will experience while still tied up in the rapturous strings of high school. I am sitting here at my computer, putting binders together, listening to Weezer, IMing friends, and furiously avoiding anything to do with the Prince of Tides, and thinking, "wow". In less than a year I will be a high school graduate, ready to take on the collegiate world. It's kind of scary. I'm glad that you're all there with me for the ride.

Tear drop 7:21 PM of Sarah

I can't believe it. I've almost finished. Reading London and doing the Euro paper? Done. Designing a biosphere? Done. Reading and annotating the four books for Lit? Almost done - I only have Prince of Tides left. Pere Goriot for Stats? I'm not even cracking it until Monday. I feel a great sense of accomplishment. And also very tired.

Tear drop 1:12 AM of Sarah

I was fired. I went in to fight an injustice in the pay scale, and I was fired. It would figure that a company that gives 3 raises to a male in 9 months and gives 1 raise to a female with a higher competency level in 2 years would fire the same girl for discussing her salary with a coworker. Because said coworker was getting 50 cents more per hour as starting pay than the girl was with 2 year experience. And arguing this injustice is apparently not permitted, because on the spot, I was fired. I actually tried to use that whole thing, "you can't fire me because I QUIT" but I'm not sure how well that worked out. Back to the application process, I guess. That really pisses me off.

Tear drop 6:26 PM of Sarah