Roughly three hours into working on a ridiculous packet on post-World War II America, I looked down at my AP U.S. History Princeton Review book and wondered, “Why am I doing this? Post-World War II America is cake. I should be studying Sir Walter Raleigh and Alexander Hamilton and all those other dead people I don’t remember.” The test is in three weeks and I haven’t even looked at that review book.
I think about this all the time. Why do I sit in school for eight hours a day, five days a week? All that valuable time could be spent on some X-TREME studying. Instead, I’m forced up at 5:00 AM to play with magnets and listen to songs about the Champs-Élysées in French. I don’t even do much in my AP Language and Composition class, which I usually regard as one of my toughest courses. I’m always convinced that I do, but when I try to think about what I accomplished that day, I start to sweat a little bit from overexertion. Okay, the practice tests we take will help me with my upcoming exams. But we do those twice, maybe three times a month? I can’t even remember what I’ve done on all the days in between.
I’m not saying school is a total waste. I would never be able to manage if I was homeschooled. I may be able to teach myself some things, but not all. My Physics textbook might as well be written in Russian because I don’t understand a word of it. French may be très facile, but how would I know how to pronounce anything if I didn’t have Madame Lee making me repeat every word eighty-seven times? Besides, I won’t work if I’m not forced to. As much as I hate them, deadlines and daily homework are good for me. I need that imaginary lion tamer (or should I say, Gabi tamer) with that imaginary whip constantly reminding me to get things done.
Perhaps the school days should be shortened, or we should only be required to go three or four times a week. That’ll solve the problem. Yes. CONGRESS, AWAY!
The first semester of my junior year in high school came to a close yesterday. The individual days dragged, but it feels like just yesterday I was walking home from school in decent weather and being pummeled with tennis balls on my school’s outdoor courts.
I’m still not sure whether these last four and a half months will be filed under “Good Times” or “FML” in my long term memory. My natural pessimism is telling me that it will end up under the “FML” category. My home life has absolutely collapsed, I’m nearly certain I received a B for the semester in Physics, I was rejected by the National Honor Society despite my immaculate grades, my best friend moved, and damnit, I’m sick of only getting six hours of sleep a night. All of those things combined have turned me into an over-stressed beast. My skin is crying for help, I’m as cranky as a senior after 4PM, and I’ve lost weight. Well, maybe that last part isn’t too bad…my caboose does look awful nice in jeggings now.
I did experience some highs as well, especially with regard to my classes. I received one of the very few A’s in all of my AP English teacher’s sixty students both quarters, I never scored lower than a ninety-five percent on a Pre-Calculus test, my AP U.S. History teacher used my free response as an example on the overhead two out three times, and my French teacher thinks I have a flair for French poetry (oui oui). The work has finally become challenging enough to weed out the averagely intelligent, which is an event I’ve been waiting for since a girl in my freshman Honors Biology class asked if humans go through photosynthesis. In addition to schoolwork, I think I’ve done one hell of job being more personable with my peers. I used to be super serious all the time because it never seemed like people understood my sense of humor, but now I provide the full Gabi experience from the first hello and on. Surprisingly, sixty percent of the time it works every time. With those stats, it’s not a shocker that I’ve bagged myself quite a few new amigos.
For everything bad that happened, it seems like something equally good happened soon after. Perhaps I will have to create a new mental folder: “Switzerland.” My neuro-employees won’t be too happy about the extra work around the holidays, but who’s the boss here?
Switch to our mobile site