hate-post

Guess where I'm going to be in 12 hours. Yes. High school. Let's break this down.

It will be a Monday. The Monday after a week off. The first day back to school after a college visit. The first day back to school after enrolling in college. And we just ran out of coffee. Is it the worst possible scenario? Ok, it's probably not, but I'll bet it's really close.

Someday when I'm sitting in my dorm, homesick and friendless and wanting to go back to the good old days, I will read this entry. These are the good...old...days. I will be sitting in my Euro room before the sun is even up, after a week of freedom and college, and I will not be caffenated. I will have three hours of study hall, and I will eat a lunch that has been sitting in my locker for four hours in a noisy, over-crowded, reeking cafeteria.

I. Hate. High School. I wish I could convey my level of disgust over the internet, but it's just not possible. I feel about CCHS the way most people feel about diarrhea. From the way it's always, always cold, to that specific CCHS smell lingering in the halls, to the lockers and flooring and wall tiles from the 70's (avacado green, urine yellow and burnt orange,) to all of the busywork classes that waste my life away and the people that hate to be there just as much as I do. I'm tired of eating lunch in the same exact place every day and always without fail having to ask permission to go to the bathroom. I hate getting up at quarter to six every single weekday. I hate it when teachers outline your projects for you so that everyone does it their specific way, and hand you packets because they can think of nothing beter to do with their lesson time. I hate it when people are already ooing and ahhing over prom, and the teachers that are already flipping out about APs. I can't think straight in that place, I cannot breathe there.

I want to be treated like an adult. I want to be trusted to use the bathroom when I need to. I want everyone to chill, just chill; if I go out for lunch you can trust me to show up for my next class, I'm not going to blow up the school, and prom is not for three months yet. Chill.

To everyone who has moved beyond high school, I know, I know it's not the end of the world. Believe me, I know. But if you had to get written permission to walk twenty feet down the hall and grab a pen out of your locker, you would be pretty grumpy, too.