I was rushed yesterday morning because I got out of bed, like, two minutes late. I hate that it takes me so long to get ready in the morning. And, as if the knowledge that I could sleep through the time I spend getting ready wasn't bad enough, especially in my new sleep-deprived life, my mom is always on me about it. Yes,
Mommie Dearest, I know it's unusual to take two hours to get ready in the morning. I wish I could do it faster, but I can't. You badgering me about it isn't going to change anything. It's just going to make me tune you out, and turn on those voices inside my head, and make me categorize it as another Thing, and ultimately cry. At least if my life was a movie, I'd know how it turns out, and maybe I wouldn't have to wallow like this.
The word "derivative" used to represent the ultimate of math terminology for me. If you use "derivative" in normal conversation, you are undeniably and wholeheartedly a nerd. Of course, now I know what that means and am gradually figuring out how to find the thing. Wonder of wonders.
RP is RP. It seems Mr. Bley's class has gone back to their usual nothing, and Mr. Avondet's gone now (he quit because of pay issues with the school), so who knows what they're up to.
Witko is becoming more bearable. I sit in the back now, much farther away from him than I used to, so I can tune him out and deflect his weirdness much easier. He was out today. Dr. J covered for him, and he pretended not to find the classwork, so I did my math homework.
Mr. Belanger's room was locked and dark today, so I skipped NHS tutoring. We had a pop quiz in Adkins that I expected and think I did well on. We have a test Thursday, the shortest test-to-test time we've had so far. Our
Hamlet test is also Thursday, along with a Geology test which may or may not be open-notes.
Also, guidance held a National Merit/Achievement breakfast this morning, which meant I had to be up at the ungodly hour of 5:30, and I was still late. It turns out that I was recognized in the National Achievement Program, which is basically the top 4600 PSAT scorers who are also black. I'm out of the running for scholarship cash, which sucks, but I got a nice, clean letter from NASC. And the catered food was pretty good. I sat next to Justin, which opens a whole other can of worms. Except for the up-early thing, it was okay.
Driving sucks. It sucks, sucks, sucks, and I am never going to be able to do it to anyone's satisfaction. Being depressed sucks, too. My life got royally sucky all of a sudden, and now I have to go bed.
