SongofSeptember
06-08-2008, 07:24 AM
Warning: Run-on sentences. Rambling. Pointless rambling. Really pointless rambling that is the result of extreme boredom.
This morning I woke up to the sound of crickets chirping outside my window, and when I happened to glance at the calender on my desk, I discovered with great surprise that it is June. Not just June, but June, as in the end of the school year and the start of summer. Which isn't as wonderful as most people think so, because frankly, I hate summer. My family, on the other hand, doesn't seem to understand.
"Hooray! It's summer!" My sister will yell, the moment she comes home, every single year, on the last day of school.
"I hate summer."
"No, no, no," Mom replies, shaking her head at me. "School's out. You won't be able to see your friends for a whole two months. Instead, you'll be trapped in this house with us. Every day, I'll make you do two or three Chinese reading comprehension assignments, as well as one or two math worksheets, which happen to be three pages long each. Also, you must practice the piano for at least one and a half hour per day, or I'll scream at you about how sore you're making my throat. After that, you must exercise precisely an hour a day. I'll also make sure to sign you up for all sorts of strenuous programs."
I groan in protest.
"We might even go vacationing!" she continues excitedly. "Your sister will get airsick, and I'll glare at you because it's your fault. It'll take us two days for you to get over the jet lag, but I'll make sure to shriek at you every morning in order to wake you up. Then we'll probably, oh, say, drive our rented car to a shopping mall. I'll yell at Dad about his driving, yell at your sister for talking, and yell at you for being annoyed I'm yelling. When we reach the shopping mall, we can take an hour finding a space to park. Then, we'll spend an hour more looking for a bathroom. By the time we find one, whoever needs to go no longer needs to go. Whenever we need to verbally communicate, you can read our minds and talk to everybody for us--since our English is atrocious. Finally, we'll return to the hotel, where we're sure to fight for the beds, then the bathroom. At 8 we'll go to sleep early, and if there is any talking I'll cut off your allowance for the next six months. How wonderful!"
"But the mosquitoes!" I protest desperately, my last excuse.
"Sis, dear, they're there to be part of the food chain. Plus, they don't bother you unless provoked." My sister boasts, demonstrating her extensive knowledge of the mosquito and its role in the food chain.
"How do you even provoke a mosquito? Do you even know what provoke means?"
"All right, great!" Mom exclaims, and I sense something ominous. "We're leaving tomorrow! Make sure you pack everything for a three-week trip within an hour!"
It takes an hour to find a suitcase. And another to drag it down from the attic.
So what, you ask, is the purpose of my pointless rambling? There probably isn't one. Or perhaps I've merely been reading too much Bill Bryson lately. (Definitely.)
Anyway, to get back to my previous topic (the title of this thread), I suppose I should be exhilerated that exams are over and done with. Or at least, happy. But I'm not, really. For the past two days I found myself so helplessly bored that I actually offered to help in the kitchen, a place I stay away from at all costs (ever since I knocked a glass jug off the counter and was forced to endure an hour and a half of Mom's shrieking). When my offer was politely declined with a suspicious stare, I then proceeded to clean my room, another ritual I do not practice voluntarily.
But it's driving me nuts. If somebody had told me, last week, that I'd be this bored, I would've told them to get air holes drilled in their skull. I mean, what do you expect? I was doing some of the most horrific things I've ever done in my life. For instance, waking up in the middle of the night trying to remember whether pharynx or larynx came first (I always forget!), or, even worse, discovering, mere hours before the exam, that I had no clue who Moshe Dayan was whatsoever, and every trace of information about him seemed to have mysteriously vanished off the surface of the textbook.
Now, I suppose, I am being punished for my lack of studying. No--that punishment will arrive precisely this Wednesday, when the grades come in and I must face my doom. All I know is that I am going to have to endure one more day of PEB, until summer kicks in. For real.
It's gonna be a long two months.
This morning I woke up to the sound of crickets chirping outside my window, and when I happened to glance at the calender on my desk, I discovered with great surprise that it is June. Not just June, but June, as in the end of the school year and the start of summer. Which isn't as wonderful as most people think so, because frankly, I hate summer. My family, on the other hand, doesn't seem to understand.
"Hooray! It's summer!" My sister will yell, the moment she comes home, every single year, on the last day of school.
"I hate summer."
"No, no, no," Mom replies, shaking her head at me. "School's out. You won't be able to see your friends for a whole two months. Instead, you'll be trapped in this house with us. Every day, I'll make you do two or three Chinese reading comprehension assignments, as well as one or two math worksheets, which happen to be three pages long each. Also, you must practice the piano for at least one and a half hour per day, or I'll scream at you about how sore you're making my throat. After that, you must exercise precisely an hour a day. I'll also make sure to sign you up for all sorts of strenuous programs."
I groan in protest.
"We might even go vacationing!" she continues excitedly. "Your sister will get airsick, and I'll glare at you because it's your fault. It'll take us two days for you to get over the jet lag, but I'll make sure to shriek at you every morning in order to wake you up. Then we'll probably, oh, say, drive our rented car to a shopping mall. I'll yell at Dad about his driving, yell at your sister for talking, and yell at you for being annoyed I'm yelling. When we reach the shopping mall, we can take an hour finding a space to park. Then, we'll spend an hour more looking for a bathroom. By the time we find one, whoever needs to go no longer needs to go. Whenever we need to verbally communicate, you can read our minds and talk to everybody for us--since our English is atrocious. Finally, we'll return to the hotel, where we're sure to fight for the beds, then the bathroom. At 8 we'll go to sleep early, and if there is any talking I'll cut off your allowance for the next six months. How wonderful!"
"But the mosquitoes!" I protest desperately, my last excuse.
"Sis, dear, they're there to be part of the food chain. Plus, they don't bother you unless provoked." My sister boasts, demonstrating her extensive knowledge of the mosquito and its role in the food chain.
"How do you even provoke a mosquito? Do you even know what provoke means?"
"All right, great!" Mom exclaims, and I sense something ominous. "We're leaving tomorrow! Make sure you pack everything for a three-week trip within an hour!"
It takes an hour to find a suitcase. And another to drag it down from the attic.
So what, you ask, is the purpose of my pointless rambling? There probably isn't one. Or perhaps I've merely been reading too much Bill Bryson lately. (Definitely.)
Anyway, to get back to my previous topic (the title of this thread), I suppose I should be exhilerated that exams are over and done with. Or at least, happy. But I'm not, really. For the past two days I found myself so helplessly bored that I actually offered to help in the kitchen, a place I stay away from at all costs (ever since I knocked a glass jug off the counter and was forced to endure an hour and a half of Mom's shrieking). When my offer was politely declined with a suspicious stare, I then proceeded to clean my room, another ritual I do not practice voluntarily.
But it's driving me nuts. If somebody had told me, last week, that I'd be this bored, I would've told them to get air holes drilled in their skull. I mean, what do you expect? I was doing some of the most horrific things I've ever done in my life. For instance, waking up in the middle of the night trying to remember whether pharynx or larynx came first (I always forget!), or, even worse, discovering, mere hours before the exam, that I had no clue who Moshe Dayan was whatsoever, and every trace of information about him seemed to have mysteriously vanished off the surface of the textbook.
Now, I suppose, I am being punished for my lack of studying. No--that punishment will arrive precisely this Wednesday, when the grades come in and I must face my doom. All I know is that I am going to have to endure one more day of PEB, until summer kicks in. For real.
It's gonna be a long two months.