Uh, school has finally reared its ugly head after 2 months of freedom. Now it's back in the classroom, surrounded by text books, quizzes, and the smell of Lysol on every desk. On the drivethrough road infront of school, it's newly painted bright bus-yellow lines, painted in hope of making it look nicer, actually makes everything without a fresh coat of paint look worse. It's one thing to have air-conditioner; it's another if it's so high, I have to wear a jacket to school in the summer. My only santuary is band class. If it wasn't for band and Jazz Band, I'd be stuck in foregin languages and gym. Now, Spanish is fun- if fun means singing and doing the gayest things I've ever seen in my life; I really don't fancy rubbing some guy's leg.

This year is supposed to be the best year of my junior high life. Not happening yet. They always tell us that in sports winning doesn't matter, they're just glad we're out there. Balony. In reality, if you can't win, get off the field. But more on that later. 

By now, some of you probably thing I'm a bit synical. I say, "Duh." This is school, we're talking about. Who's going to be happy about dealing with studying boring text all day? Math: Number that we'll barely, if not ever, use in real life (Oh, yeah. I'm going to use trig to buy groceries)? History: Dead guys in a book? Science: Things in a cell that're bigger than how much we care? English: itz nbd. Spanish: I swear they don't speak with real words.

That's all my fellow doomed classmates. Maybe next time I'll have something postitive to talk about. But I doubt it.

 -S.