I'm Looking Through You

Today was the seniors' last day; the year is very nearly over. It seems to have gone very fast. For me it has been a pretty good year overall. I got my first D on a report card, stood up to Ms. Greene in quiz bowl, survived the word paper, made a lot of new friends, asked two guys out and was rejected by both, got asked to prom, was introduced to Joni Mitchell, R.E.M., the Wallflowers, Josh Ritter, and probably some others I'm forgetting, made it through two Longhenry classes...it's been crazy, but maybe no more than usual.

I thought that I wouldn't miss the seniors much. I told April on the bus this morning that I don't like any of them very much as people. And when I'm thinking of Baylie, Beth, Jorian, Zack Beach, and various others, that's true. But I will miss Andrew Raridon being cheerful in newspaper. I'll miss Louisa in Spanish. I'll miss Ritzi, Cristal, and Maia (whom I group together because of their status as former Key Club officers). I'll miss Will drawing woodchucks on his pad of paper and making me laugh during quiz bowl matches. I'll miss Brittany Foreman and Arthur Surratt bickering. I'll miss Kelly Rockwell being Kelly Rockwell. And even the people I don't especially like have become a part of my life. Some of them I've known since I was in first or second grade; some I've only known since the beginning of high school, but that's still three years. Today I saw Ellie in the hallway and she kind of smiled distractedly and said hi, and all of a sudden I was tearing up as I walked away, not for Ellie alone but just because of all of the people I've gotten to know so well.

On the other hand, the class of '05 graduated can mean only one thing: the class of '06, of which I am a part, is up next. We'll be seniors next year; in one year, we'll be graduating. It seems so short a time put that way, but I know there's months of applying to colleges, slogging through snow on the way to school (I hate winter), senioritis, finals, and a lot of other annoyances to be endured before I'll be able to don a cap and gown and shuffle across a stage for my diploma. (Speaking of which, I have a not-irrational fear of tripping over my gown and going flying at graduation. Well, maybe not flying, but stumbling and making a fool of myself. I'll try to be careful to lift my gown up when I walk up there, and to wear sensible shoes that won't slip off at inconvenient times.)

I've been really happy because I finally, after about six months, put new strings on my guitar. I can't really play the guitar, except for a few riffs (the main part of "Smoke on the Water," the beginning of "Sweet Home Alabama," parts of Third Day's "Consuming Fire," "Dust in the Wind," etc.) But there's a nice feeling that comes from messing around with the guitar; it adds to my once-desired persona of hippie and still-desired one of someone with artistic talent.

One of my favorite things to do is to go to the library and check out a huge stack of books. There's just endless possibilities in an unread stack of books. They all seem so nice and shiny. I checked out a big stack for the summer from the Auburn library the other day. Unfortunately, the stack has already dwindled by one and a half, and it's not even officially summer yet. Oh, well. The Cherry Valley library will always be there.