Could blogging be any more intimidating? It’s like starting a new school and not knowing where anything is or how things are run. Everybody else knows what’s going on, but you’re just stumbling around pretending to look cool while on the inside you’d rather just curl up in a corner and cry. Then there’s also trying to decide who you’re going to be. What to write about? How to present my life- if it’s even my life that I’m going to write about? I could be anyone I wanted here. I could make up a life and
live it out in writing. This could be the blog of what could’ve happened today, or of what I wished would’ve happened today. But
most likely, this blog will turn into simple highlights of my days in high school. For instance, the teacher that assigns the most homework got onto a kid today about sleeping in class, and I feel like said teacher has no right to do so. If you assign hours and hours of homework (And yes, it is hours and hours), you cannot possibly expect for us to get enough sleep at night, therefore you
cannot expect us to not nod off in your class. If there were more hours in a day, maybe it would be acceptable. The homework load might even be expected. But no. There are twenty-four hours in a day. I spend approximately nine of those sleeping, two of them eating. That’s eleven. (You’ll have to forgive me. I am no good at math, so I’ll need to take this slow.) Seven hours are spent at school. Not including the approximate hour in the car to and from school. That would be nineteen. And if I have done my math correctly, that leaves five hours to do homework. Now, one of the assignments that was due today for that teacher that I was talking about took me four hours to finish. That would leave me a whopping one hour to finish the rest of my homework. Oh! And the rest of that teacher’s homework, too. I should call CPS. It’s inhumane. This, my friends, is child labor. Physical and mental.
So there you have it. The thought of the day.
Oh, wait. I have another one: St. Patrick’s Day is a good excuse to pinch
people you don’t like.