Where the hell is summer?
It still seems like there's 10 billion days left of school. And it's not a pleasant feeling.
Maybe it's because half my teachers are still teaching. Or maybe it's because Mrs. Marino started reviewing for finals weeks ago and it feels like they aren't coming quick enough.
Who the heck knows. Summer just needs to come. Now.
This summer should be interesting. As long as I don't get fired from Ice Milan and I magically turn my skin color from pasty white, to chocolate brown, I should be fine. I have high expectations.
I really should stop having these high expectations. I do that for a lot of things. I did that for the band trip to Ohio, and that really nipped me in the butt. And now that I think about it, becoming tan, and even keeping a job at the infamous Ice Milan, seems like a stretch.
But it's worth a try, I guess.
I actually made a list of goals for the summer, because I am that much of a tool. Some are worth mentioning, like Goal Number 5: Try to enjoy babysitting the next door neighbor's kid. Some would consider this to be a crappy goal, but I find it to be a reach. Did I mention I don't like kids that much? Did I also mention the next door neighbor's kid is a baby? That poor child doesn't have a chance.
Other goals are typical. Like learn how to drive. Which Tommy isn't too excited to help me out with. I asked him why he doesn't want to teach me. He told me that driving is too dangerous. I just think he thinks I'll be a bad driver. He's probably right.
The scariest out of all eight goals: Look up colleges/start portfolio. I've been looking up colleges since I was in the 8th grade. But now that I know I actually have to pick a select few, visit them, and figure out my major all within the next year or so, scares the crap out of me. I just want to do something with my life, and I have this horrible fear that I am going to fail and the people around me will ultimately be hurt by it, as well as me. My mom calls me a WorryWart. I call myself a ConcernedCorn.
I guess I should just enjoy the rest of sophmore year, right? Right.
