|
|
5:28 p.m. - September 04, 2001 Anyway... I'm not much for the day-to-day 'here's what I did' scheme, but my senior year started today, so it's almost a requirement that I write about it. Actually, it's a pretty selfish entry: I'm doing it mostly for m so I know later what I felt like today. :) First impressions: Period 1. Mr. W. looks older, kind of shrunken. Tornado sirens hit that window extra hard, send the smell of chalkdust flying, even though there's only one piece now. Chalk, I mean. Period 2. Mr. W., again, holds up my rough sketch to the class as an example of what a finished product should look like. Not enough that I'm the only senior in a class full of sophomores, he has to single me out another way. Either way, it surprises me; he always hated my photos in 1 Photo three years ago. Period 3. Homebase will never change. Period 4. Sudden explosion of my friends in the anatomy room that Maria says smells like dead things. Dan with the Fuzzy Hair stumbles in late dragging along two pairs of rollerblades, and Hazel gives us an enigmatic glance and sits down four rows ahead. Mr. S. is so nondescript almost to be a good mass-murderer character in a novel. Period 5. I hate math, and Gabe dies if he leaves me in that class alone. I've hardly ever had a good math teacher, and this one's bound for hell if he's as meek as he seems. I'll bury him in philosophical math questions. Period 6. Mr. Hat leaves with the concert band, and suddenly the room gets a lot less young. Byebye, freshmen... we at least know enough not to listen to the longwinded speeches we get every day. I'd rather be there than with Mr. Hat, however. Period 7. What used to be a hallway and offices is now the student center. It's got carpeted prison blocks for couches, but sophs aren't allowed in anymore, as well, as always, freshmen. Mr. Jones patrols. I eat my sandwich and consider tossing bits of lettuce at him when he's not looking. A cluster of uncomfortable exes sit in the corner, watching the room. They take up a quarter of the sitting space, and I think it might be true that the geeks will inherit the earth. Period 8. Ms. R. has us rolling with her dizzy antics. I'm going to love this class, even though it's full up with prep-types. I get to go to Spain and you don't, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah. Period 9. Camille is somehow in my writing class, even though a week ago over the phone we compared schedules and established we had nothing together. Ghosts of Ms Roberson continue to haunt us... even as we sit on opposite sides of the room waiting, inevitably, for Ms. M's head to spin right off her neck and go flying through the window. Period 10. What period 10? I have it free. I took my car out of the staff lot, where I'd parked it, and whizzed home in order to write my four essays YES I SAID FOUR and to finish preparing my room for the exchange student, who's coming Friday. Overall: I feel my senior status very strongly when I notice there is absolutely nobody older than me walking the hallways. I keep going, 'where are the seniors?' and then... 'oh yeah.. kickASS.' Everybody bow to me, at this ever-so-tiny step in my life.
|