Memories of a Past May

I continue to be highly amused by my old Xanga posts. This one's from the last Tuesday in May, 2005. I was a sophomore in high school. And the sophomore-in-high-school version of me amuses the sophomore-in-college version of me to no end. Part of my reason for blogging is definitely for posterity's sake, but I often forget how nice it is just to look back. (And laugh, as the case often is.)

Summer is here at last. And it feels damn good.

I'll be the first one to admit that I am one of those banal people that absolutely adores this season. Sure, I'm a Yankee at heart, but I have never been a fan of cold weather. Anything below 50 degrees is just a little too chilly for me. My body temperature is always lower than it's supposed to be, so there's no need for my surrounding environment to exacerbate that sense. (Unless I happen to be somewhere gorgeous but cold. Then I'm willing to compromise.)

Plus, I love the feeling of soaking up some good old UV rays and letting the sun's heat permeate into my bones. Sure, tanning is incredibly unhealthy, but we all have our bad habits. That one has just matured into an addiction. Of course, it's only fun in the company of friends. Otherwise I get bored within 30 minutes. So thank goodness for fellow sun-revelers.

Naturally, the best thing about summer is the lack of school. Try to withhold your shock, because I know many people assume I enjoy school, if only because I do well in it. But you know what they say about assuming. At least school ended well this year. As if it ever hasn't. Endings, in this case, are warmly welcomed. Exams were easy except for Spanish 2, but I expected that. It's not like it made much difference anyway, since most people, including me, had over a 100 in that class.

Now I'm ready to face my report card. And yes I'll be seeing the same predictable letter grade I always see, but I'm in need of some decent final exam grades too. They help determine your class rank, and I need to be ranked 25th or lower so I can be a Junior Marshall. This all sounds so mediocre to most of you, but it's a necessity for me. My success in school will determine if I ever get out of A-hell. Not that it's that bad, but this whole area is suburbia, and I can't see myself spending my entire life here.

On that note, I must go and live my provincial, yet thus far adequate, life.

Lordy, I was such an overachiever. Okay, still am. But in a much healthier way, in my opinion. I choose the areas in which I overachieve, at the very least. And I am considerably less stressed-out. And I will never, ever care about getting straight A's again.

Hating suburbia, on the other hand? Well, some things never change.