For being someone who likes to write, I sure forget about this place a lot
School is in its last leg; one more month and I'm officially a senior. Woo! I know it may not be as great as a lot of people think it is, but hell, I've worked 13 years to get here, and I'm gonna love it. It kinda sucks, though, that I caught "Senioritis" my sophomore year. When our teachers passed out our transcripts I discovered that I missed 66 out of 34 classes in Biology. Apparently, classes during lunch hours count as double. What the hell.
My only grievance right now is how the teachers cram all their last-minute lectures and big end-of-the-year projects into the the last month/few weeks. All of a sudden they pop up and say, "By the way! You have a big project and a paper with it that will make up your final presentation for this year!"
Why do all the major subjects in that sentence begin with P?
AND I have to write a mock entrance paper for english. The prompt: "How do you spend your free time?" Somehow I have to be proper, clever and accomplish the task. I'm good on the proper and accomplish parts... I'm not fucking clever! My mind is far too simple for that. My teacher read some essays by a guy named Jos Claerbout.... incredibly talented and creative man. He's dead now. Cardiac Arrest. He was 25 or so. The good truly die young.
I'll probably post a rough draft on here, just for the fuck of it. There's got to be some way I can incorporate my hours on the net into a clever and thought-out essay. Because, psh, I don't do anything else.
My next goal: be a dancer on one of those platforms on Soul Train. That'd be boss...if I had ANY rhythm at all. As everyone says, "you're pretty rhythmless for a black girl." Then I proceed to eye daggers in their general direction. How dare they.