Important ANNOUNCEMENT. Not really.
DramaTweets
For a Good Cause...
When I was six, I thought that the best part of going to school was getting the chance to choose whatever school supply that tickled my fancy. I'd go wild and pick out things I thought I needed: notebooks, pencils, pencil boxes, pencil sharpeners, erasers, the works. (Half of which I don't really need but somewhere during the school year, I'd find some use for them.) (Yes, weird kid, I know.)
Every time June crept around the corner, I'd be on the borderline between mild and severely hostile when it came to welcoming the new school year. (School begins on June, ends on March here.) But it temporarily disappears within a duration of sixteen to twenty hours. (Starts during the time I enter the store, and ends right about the time my butt settles down in my seat inside the classroom and it dawns on me that, apparently, school meant that one has to be a student.)
I never understood why picking out the best school bag was ripping fun. I never got why I sharpened my number two pencils in such a way that they had the same height. I loved labeling my stuff, making it known to the universe that this ruler belonged to ANGELI VICTORIA B. CORTES. (Could've been because I was stuck in that toddler stage where one becomes territorial and stuff.)
Shopping for school stuff (with annoying four year old cousin) made me realize that probably everyone needs to unleash the six year old within them once in a while in a pathetic attempt to become happy. (Afterthought: I still don't know what happy is.)
It could be by zoning out whilst staring at Spongebob Squarepants. Or maybe playing video games when you're twenty. Or laughing at someone who just snorted water out of his nose because you guys were laughing like hyenas.
Nobody wants to grow up. When you think about it, who wants to wake up to a nine-to-five job where, most probably, people treat you like you're at the bottom of the corporate food chain? If you ask me, I'd rather go watch Spongebob and Patrick act on their, um, bright (???) ideas.
Don't you guys ever wonder how the world turned into this monster who's out to make us live our lives in such a way that everything seems like a habit?
I've spent most of my years getting up, getting dressed, going to school, attempting to do my homework, going to bed. From there, it's a cycle. I'm sure as hell that the next forty years (assuming I don't die from something when I'm 27) my life would be roughly like that.
Twelve years after six year old me got all excited making margins in her notebooks, she finds herself being a six year old within the duration of, you guessed it, sixteen to twenty hours.
The pencils are fighting a war to make the six year old in me happy between those hours, and so far, they're winning.
Every time June crept around the corner, I'd be on the borderline between mild and severely hostile when it came to welcoming the new school year. (School begins on June, ends on March here.) But it temporarily disappears within a duration of sixteen to twenty hours. (Starts during the time I enter the store, and ends right about the time my butt settles down in my seat inside the classroom and it dawns on me that, apparently, school meant that one has to be a student.)
I never understood why picking out the best school bag was ripping fun. I never got why I sharpened my number two pencils in such a way that they had the same height. I loved labeling my stuff, making it known to the universe that this ruler belonged to ANGELI VICTORIA B. CORTES. (Could've been because I was stuck in that toddler stage where one becomes territorial and stuff.)
Shopping for school stuff (with annoying four year old cousin) made me realize that probably everyone needs to unleash the six year old within them once in a while in a pathetic attempt to become happy. (Afterthought: I still don't know what happy is.)
It could be by zoning out whilst staring at Spongebob Squarepants. Or maybe playing video games when you're twenty. Or laughing at someone who just snorted water out of his nose because you guys were laughing like hyenas.
Nobody wants to grow up. When you think about it, who wants to wake up to a nine-to-five job where, most probably, people treat you like you're at the bottom of the corporate food chain? If you ask me, I'd rather go watch Spongebob and Patrick act on their, um, bright (???) ideas.
Don't you guys ever wonder how the world turned into this monster who's out to make us live our lives in such a way that everything seems like a habit?
I've spent most of my years getting up, getting dressed, going to school, attempting to do my homework, going to bed. From there, it's a cycle. I'm sure as hell that the next forty years (assuming I don't die from something when I'm 27) my life would be roughly like that.
Twelve years after six year old me got all excited making margins in her notebooks, she finds herself being a six year old within the duration of, you guessed it, sixteen to twenty hours.
The pencils are fighting a war to make the six year old in me happy between those hours, and so far, they're winning.
DramaQueen files this under school, the pursuit of happyness
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A Poem
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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