Indulging myself here because my English teachers weren't into it, said I needed discipline. So here I am, gloriously and repentantly all over the place. Have fun wading through the soup that is my writing.
Friday, August 2, 2013
August
How can it be August already? Where has my Summer gone? I have spent seven weeks inside an SAT prep class, dreaming about sandy beaches and watermelon agua frescas. What has the world come to?
My June was alright, but my July slipped past in such a flurry of academic hustle-and-bustle that it may as well have not existed at all. It pains me to admit that my Summa experience (that's the name of the prep class) was not excruciatingly dull. Rather, I found that I enjoyed myself, and learned things actually relevant to my life. I always thought that the SAT was an absurdity: a ridiculous way to classify America's youth due to the educational system's general ineptitude. Typical teenaged pomposity. I still think that the SAT perhaps isn't the best way to categorize students, but now I realize that it's the best way we have, for now. It makes sense that colleges need some way of determining their incoming freshman classes.
But however much I may have found improving myself an engaging experience, my inner child still rebelled; Little Cynthia wanted to see actual sunshine. I don't think it's unreasonable to long for what childhood is left me, either. Sixteen is neither adult nor child, and it's a painfully awkward place to be in. If I ever look back to the July of my sixteenth Summer, I'll remember a big whiteboard with a dirty eraser and a sea of desks with those stupid plastic chairs that are attached to them (Seriously, whoever invented them must have been a spartan disciplinarian who clearly hated children and smiles and kittens). Of course, I had weekends and afternoons to myself, provided that I finished my homework, but mornings are my favorite time of the day.
Summa now only has one week remaining, and I want to enjoy my ten days of freedom. If I can't have my July, at least I'll have my August. It shall be everything an August ought to be: hot, sandy, and irresponsible. If by the time school starts I haven't increased my chances for skin cancer at least a little, I'll consider myself a failure as a human being ( my bottle of Neutrogena Sunscreen on my nightstand is glaring at me, as if to say: "I'd like to see you try, you screw-up!")
On the twentieth I think I'll bake Robert Plant a birthday cake.
Let's all be children of the sun together!
~Cynthia
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