Remember when I used to blog? When I used to design? When I used to be a carefree teen without a severe coffee addiction and bad skin?
Yeah, neither do I.
My attitude has improved since my last post, but my situation has not. I never thought I could have more work than I have in years past. But now, even though I no longer nap or spend every other day sitting at Starbucks all afternoon, I never have all my homework and design work finished by my normal bed time. I haven’t even found time to start a single college application essay. It’s rough, knowing I’m doing everything I can and it’s still not enough. At this point, I either need to stay up past midnight every day or get bitten by a radioactive spider to stay on track. I like sleeping, so if anyone knows where I can find the latter…hit me up.
Honestly, I don’t know what else to say at this point. I started this blog, thinking I had more to say on the topic, but all I have is sappy crap and emotional mumbo jumbo. I hate sappy crap and emotional mumbo jumbo. So really, I guess this is just to say that I’m not as pissy as I was a couple weeks ago. I mean, I’m still pissy. I’m never not. Just…to a lesser extent. To a “I won’t whip out the mace but beware a kidney punch” extent.
Even though I’m exhausted by college mail, the idea that the majority of the envelopes in our mailbox these days belong to me is a very exciting one. Fetching the mail has become a relaxing little ritual for me. I toss most of my letters into one of the many toppling piles of unread college ads I’ve collected since February, but sometimes I find a colorful little booklet full of pretty pictures and interesting numbers that catches my eye.
I didn’t receive any fun booklets today. But I did find a letter from my school addressed to my parents. It technically had my name on it, so I opened it.
“We’d like to extend our thanks to you for taking part in our annual Curriculum night.”
What? My parents didn’t go to curriculum night. I don’t even think they know it exists. And even though I wish they knew how my teachers looked (I know I like to visualize people when they turn up in conversation), I would never expect them to waste nearly two hours of their time going through all my classes in lightning speed. That’s just silly.
At least, that’s how I feel. Much to my surprise, a good chunk of my peers’ parents showed up. Is it really necessary to be that involved in your kid’s school life? Since my parents have never taken a particularly controlling hold of my academic career, I say no. I’ve never felt pressured by my parents to succeed. They’ve always trusted me to do what I need to do, whether it be studying for tests or talking to teachers about questionable grades. They actually tell me I could get Cs if I want to. Of course, getting a B is the end of the world by my own standards, so that’s never been a nugget of parental wisdom I’ve listened to.
I will be forever grateful to them for this. They’ve allowed me to sculpt my own high school experience. My classes, my activities, and my work have always been how I’ve wanted them to be. Occasionally they’ve offered their input, but my decision is always final. Of course, not everyone agrees with this style of parenting. I’ll never forget having my best friend’s mom lecture me on the importance of taking Spanish when I was first entering high school. “What college is going to take you without language credits?” she’d say. “And your mother is okay with this?” Yes, she is. She knows I love art, and she wants me to be happy. Truly happy. Not “you’ll thank me when you’re a multimillionaire at age forty” happy.
And guess what? Her strategy has worked out quite dandily. I eventually took French junior year anyway after hearing rave reviews about the teachers and finding out Painting II is only a semester class. I’m somewhere in the top 1-ish% of my class and I’ve never dropped out of the honors/AP track of any core subject. I may not be going to Harvard, but I think I’ll at least avoid spending my life tossing the day-old salad at Cici’s for a living.
So thanks for not caring, Mom and Pop. You guys are the tops.
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