Get ready for the raddest post you've ever read on this blog, because M.C. Abby is in the house.
Hi. Hello. I really don't know how to write blog entries, mainly because blogging is for forty-something year old mothers with delusions that people actually read what they write, and I don't fit that demographic. But today, I'm going to try. Because I love my forty-something year old mother who actually doesn't have delusions about people reading what she writes, since she is a realist. She's the realest realist I've ever met.
I'm rambling. Let's get on to what she actually asked me to write about, shall we?
Ah, High School. A term that is basically synonymous with the word fun.*
Actually, it's not that bad. I already like this year better than last year, even though I'm taking a lot of hard classes and am now a Sophomore, and thus smell terrible. If you're an avid reader of this blog, you'll know what I mean.
Aside from the pungent odor of myself and my classmates, however, my first week went over pretty well. I like my teachers well enough. My classmates are nice, though the class of 2017 is sadly lacking in cute boys who happen to be, like, 6'5"**. The people I don't like are mostly dumb, so I have classes with very few of them. The ones I do tend to stay away from me, because I was probably sardonic to them at one point or another and they know that it's really difficult to retort when they don't understand the insult. That's just how I roll, insults and jokes that only I understand.
My friends are pretty cool, and I've already made quite a few new ones just from sitting beside them in class. I like new friends, because when I'm with them I get to repeat a lot of stories that my old friends already know, so they think I'm hilarious. Which I am anyway, though it helps when I have something to say, you feel?
My classes have been going well, though they all have their quirks. Like the art teacher who is even more into inner passion than my last one. Or the fact that I had to buy a $100 graphing calculator for my Algebra 2 class that I don't even know how to use (though I did learn how to write "ABBY IS COOL" on it, so you decide if it was worth it or not). And how I had to go to Trashmart and buy binders for a couple of my classes, because my teachers are a bunch of notebook haters who don't understand the subtle beauty of notebooks and the glorious notes one can take in them. Sigh.
I actually decided to take a Personal Fitness class as an elective, which makes me question the fact that I am actually my mother's daughter. But then again, I'm not very good at things that have to do with physical activity, so maybe we are related. The class hasn't been too bad so far, though I have to keep reminding myself that I'm doing it so I won't die the first week of basketball practice. Sigh again.
The Freshman class is gigantic, and they crowd the hallways. My patience with them is waning. That's all I'm going to say.
Well that's about it, my friends. Or my mother's friends, I guess. Or maybe random people from around the world reading this and making fun of how stupid we Americans are. I don't know.
I hope you enjoyed this post, though many of you probably aren't used to this level of awesome in your everyday reading. I apologize if I have ruined other writing for you, since other writing is not written by me. Sorry.
And now, to finish, a haiku. It just seems fitting.
Public School is fun
If you don't know what fun is.
People smell bad, dude.
*That's called sarcasm, people, which is a form of verbal irony. I learned that in my Honors Sophomore English Class.
**I'm tall. I like tall boys. Sigh.***
***I sigh frequently, and with great fervor. It's one of my many talents.