There's no word to describe school. It's just... school. Oh wait, there is a word, and can you guess what that word is? You guessed it. The word is sucks. Yes, people always say high school is all that, but they're wrong. They're really, really wrong. Even though I've only been there for about three days, I know this for a fact.
I don’t talk at all. The only people I talk to are my best friends. Well, at least two of them. My other best friend goes to some public school now. Yes, I know, lame. But that’s how it is for me. I’m shy. I hate how I am, but there’s no way to change that. I’ve always been quiet; that’s how my family works, even when we were babies. Literally, I was like an angel when I was young. And then my elementary school class turned bad, and I went along with it. I mean, I’m not a rebel or anything. I’m just worse than I used to be. Sad, isn’t it?
I went rogue on my parents and still am. I fight a lot, but not physically, because then I would get beaten, like, every time. I mean arguing. You see, my dad likes to throw things. Yes, you heard me correctly. I said throw, and sometimes it’s pointed at people, preferably me or my dog, Holly. It’s usually plates, but sometimes it can be knives. No, I’m just joking. It’s just the plates… mostly. I don’t really want to get much into that right now. Just know that I lose my voice a lot with all the yelling I do at my parents and my poor, annoying younger twin brother. I hate him. Okay, hate’s strong a word (just like it says in one of my favorite songs, I Really Don’t Like You by Plain White T’s), but I will use the word loathe. And if you don’t know what that word means then get your dictionary out that’s hiding in your basement and look it up. Here’s a brief definition: tamer than hate, but way worse than dislike. Now that you know my family life, let’s get back to school.
First period is Early Civ, and it’s boring as heck. You don’t even know how boring it is. Even though my best friend is in that class I still want to go crawl in a dark corner and die. I’m sure she would say the exact same thing. (Oh, wait she is saying it. She’s sitting right here next to me typing for me since I suck at grammar to no end. She forced to type this blog since she has her own. It’s called sarcastic wonder. You should check it out [her words, not mine].) But unfortunately, our teacher would just call the police and tell them that we were attempting suicide. Who wouldn’t when you have class? Okay, people, adults, policemen, and even stalkers (if you try to stalk me I will be able to get my dad to throw plates at you, and I don’t think you would want that to happen, believe me) out there who are reading this, don’t think we’re considering committing suicide any time in our lifetime. We are just kidding; we aren’t that stupid. (No offense to the people who actually did or are planning on it. But let me tell you this now, don’t.) Now that we’re done explaining how boring our history class, we are finally going to move on.
Second period Biology is fun, so I’m going to skip that since you don’t really need to… uh… well… I… Anyways, I’m just going to move on. M next class is PE. Joy. Can you guess what sport we’re going to be learning soon? Well, if you guessed volleyball, soccer, or basketball you are absolutely way off track, because those are the sports actually like. Even if you picked golf you’re wrong. And thank goodness you’re wrong, because I hate golf to no end (I say that a lot). I mean, how can you even watch it? It’s just so… slow. There’s no other word to describe it. Oh yeah, I got one: boring, very, very boring. But if you guessed football you are unfortunately right. I hate football—not as much as golf, but I still hate it. It’s not fun, I don’t get it, so therefore, I need something else.
Now let’s skip to my very last period. Computers. I hate computers. Yes, it’s another thing that I hate. I hate a lot of things, obviously. But seriously, there’s a reason behind this one. Our real teacher’s grandma died so she’s off in wonderland somewhere, so we got a sub. I mean, I don’t even know his name. He didn’t tell us. What kind of teacher doesn’t tell us their freakin’ name? He just wants us to be bored and not listen. And let me tell you, that’s exactly what I do. You see, I’m in the back row. It’s a beautiful thing. I just watch other people in other rows play with their computers or drool on their hands since they fell asleep. Why didn’t I fall asleep? you ask. That’s a very reasonable question. When you figure out the answer please tell me. All he does is talk, talk, and talk some more. He never stops. And the things that come out of his mouth aren’t even, like, interesting. They’re, like, rules and stuff. I know teachers are supposed tell you about the rules in the beginning of the year so that you understand, but I mean, come one. You don’t need to bore us to death, because literally, he could.
Okay, that was pretty much my day so I should go now.
PS: Teachers out there who figured out who I am, don’t get so offended. Teens tend to exaggerate a bit, or a lot. So what I just explained there may or may not be true. May or may not. You guess which one it is.
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