My English AP English sub is gone... and I never got to ask her if her accent's from the East-End of London. Poo. She probably left because of me! Her alibi is a graduation of some sort... but it's really because I'm from the inis of Erin... well, my family is, anyway.
This weekend I will resume my Hebrew studies. I'll have to do a massive review, because I doubt I can remember the alephbet, let alone read words. They were paused for the AP testing, but I've only one left to study for. Government. *dramatic reverb* Yes, I find myself as prepared for that exam as I am for prom. Which does not bode well. It does not bode well at all.
I still need shoes. But I've been exfoliating!
My AP French exam was, as I've mentioned, no more than what I expected. My AP English exam was the same as any other I've taken-- and certainly easier than that of last year. I, unfortunately, did not write an essay on Daniel Deronda... nor did I allude to Finnegans Wake like I wanted to. Though, now I see where I could have slipped it in... of course... But, in any case, I was able to include Issy in my analysis of Gwendolen Harleth for another essay I wrote... which made me very excited!
I wrote an essay for the play I'm in (not directing), and I don't think anybody understands all of the humour. I did that slightly on purpose, because I will admit, not having someone understand you is a huge boost of ego (though, I don't understand why). The essay's supposed to sound incoherent, because I wrote it to be much longer and natural, as my rather verbose character would. Then, I'd imagine she'd catch her fatal flaw just before the deadline that -gasp- there's a 500-word limit. Ainsi, she races through her essay in search of deleteable paragraphs, leaving in the wake of the devastation 517 words of either sheer Ulysses-level brilliance, or complete idiocy (and, yes, the latter is preferable). Misspelledd and misused words abound, and I tore pages from Fitzgerald with descriptions of black-souled "cynical idealists". And though I spent so much time on it, thinking it through, brooding over the simple nuances, I doubt my efforts will prevail. And that feels good!
Meh. I think my mummy needs a hug. She sounds sad. And sick. She gave me a good wordplay on "chaste" and "chased"... "chasted"? Quick. Witty. Funny! And my word of the week: "blasť".