Being a senior in highschool is not fun. Neither is graduating highschool and getting out. It's a strange mixture of desires. I just want to sit down and absorb myself into one thing, and I'm greeted with papers and forms and payment plans and ugh. I get the feeling of condescension from my peers, which I neither need nor want. And if they're not undermining me, they're depending on me unnecessarily, which is frustrating. So people either think I'm a personification of self-assured mediocrity, or the person to suck dry of ideas.
At the same time, my highschool has been a second home to me for four years. 180 days out of the 365 I'm there, and sometimes on weekends, and oftentimes at night. Once nearly overnight! I've eaten there, commiserated there, learned there, feel asleep on the desks there... it's going to be strange to go somewhere else. Somewhere where I'll hardly see my mum and brother, where I'll make entirely new friends (which I'm not so upset about), where I'll feel isolated and forced to absorb myself in my work. And I hate the summer, so what can I say? My colours are really more winter than anything, what with my pale skin.
My consolations are that first and foremost that God has a plan for me and I have to trust Him, and second that the majority of America has gone through the same process and made it out well. Well, except for Amory Blaine. But he was fictional, so I suppose he doesn't count. Plus, that was after college. I will say that I'm excited about the more advanced studies of everything I love... more literature at my fingertips, more theatre than I ever imagined... super-dooper! One drawback is that there are not nearly enough spaces on a schedule for the classes I want to take. And I don't like the idea of sharing a room. No one better be touching my clothes.
Especially my new Prada purse. Muahahaha! (Thank you, mummy!)
I really love my mum and brother. I really hope that I never get the chance to ever miss them.
On a lighter... or heavier note, I'm reading The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. Must say, I wasn't fond of Jude the Obscure, but I loved Tess of the d'Urbervilles... so I decided to give Mayor a shot. It's pretty good. I've gotten through a substantial amount just today. It won't be one of those books I hold on to and draw out for months and months, because I'll want to find out what happens. There are just some stories, though, that I like to savour. Like good wine or Oreo cookies... you store it away for a later date. Fermentation adds to the flavour. Not that I know the wine part first-hand, but Oreos I can guarantee.
Today was supposed to be my last day of school, but I'm going back on Monday to see the finished product of a drawing I did for the school's chapter of ITS. I drew a phoenix rising from ashes because this year's theme was... rising... from ashes... It was pretty snappy, if I do say so meself. And I do. So it was. Tomorrow I'm cleaning and plotting.
Ever wonder just how much you contribute to the collective unconscious? I sometimes wonder if the more I try to discover, the more the unconscious augments. Except for those times of complete yet abstract brilliance that dissipate as soon as they're conceived, like the "tree with the fire in it". Those moments when something old becomes completely new and completely foreign, and Bradley is rendered dumb as you return to your finite centre and once again see relations anew. Why is it that these moments are swallowed by that unconscious? And we're left like ignorant philistines devoted to nothing? God grants us favours that our earthly minds will never handle.
Title's from the Fresh Prince, when will saw his new paycheck at the car-dealership.