June 20, 2006

• Finals

  
  

   

  
  

  Well, so ends the last Tuesday of my sophomore year in high school.  I’ve always hated Tuesdays.  Mondays were obvious downers, but Tuesdays were a little more inconspicuous about it.  Tuesdays just never really mattered.  Like the middle child.  Monday is the annoying immature younger sibling, cranky from not getting enough sleep the night before.  Friday is the fabulous older sibling that does everything right, because older siblings are better than you and mommy loves us more.  Wednesday and Thursday get rounded up –they’re second best, but at least they aren’t kid sister Tuesday, middle-child Tuesday, the forgotten sibling we obliviously left at the mall yet again.  Tuesdays are just lame.  Even if we all went on a family vacation and left Tuesday at home, it probably wouldn’t even be creative enough to pull a Home Alone 4 and find clever ways of ruining the lives of escaped convicts while learning valuable life lessons at the same time.  It would probably just spend the whole week biting its toenails and preserving the clippings it didn’t swallow in some air-tight jar it stores in the back of its closet.  You know, on the shelf behind the row of moldy, malignant, bloodthirsty sweater vests. 

  
  

   

  
  

  The last week of school is always the hardest.  Oh- wait, sorry.  My bad.  The last week of school is always the hardest in New Jersey.  See, we’re the only kids still in school right now.  If I still lived in Pennsylvania, this entry would probably be about a water park or the beach or, I don’t know, Coldstone.  But because Millburn sucks so horribly and because we used up all of our snow days this year, all I can really ramble about are finals.  It’s the third to last week of June, prettiest month of the year June, and I must spend it cooped up in my room memorizing every wretched detail of the Civil War.  I mean, I enjoyed learning about the Civil War.  But that doesn’t mean I want it force-fed into my mind when I could be outside living my life and being genuinely happy for a change.  Finals are hard because the week before them, no matter what you are doing, you are wasting time.  When you’re outside living, you think about how you should be studying.  When you’re inside studying, you’re looking out the window, marveling at all the colors swaying in the summer breeze and you can hear the wind as it whispers “Nanananana it’s still the fourth marking period!”  But no one cares that it’s still the fourth marking period, not even the teachers.  So that’s why finals were invented.  To remind us that we do not yet deserve the natural beauties in life.  Ah ah, not yet, nah ah, not until we fill out this scantron sheet over here, write this essay over there, have yet another mental breakdown because the proctor keeps walking around, pounding her wretched high heals against the fake-marble floor to the rhythm of the throbbing, pulsating head ache in your mind, the one preventing you from making a decision between a, b, c, or d.  And isn’t it strange to think, isn’t it sad to think, isn’t it disturbing to think that a single letter can matter so much us, can set a path for us, can open doors for us, when I know I could have been just as happy with an open window.

  
  

   

  
  

  At least I know that after Friday, school is history for two wonderful months.  Sure, we have summer reading, but I like reading.  I’ve always liked reading.  I like analyzing what I read and writing about what I read.  Want to know what I don’t like?  Numbers.  But it’s summertime, it’s almost summertime, it’s practically summertime, and summertime, unlike any other time, won’t get counted into my grade point average.  

  • 11:19 pm
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