In which I ramble, there are nine days of school left (ten, depending on how you count), and sentimentality reigns.

Ninedaysninedaysninedaysninedays.

I honestly can't believe that. It still all seems very surreal-- like it won't actually be happening until the minute after the bell rings on the very last day of school. I'm having a ridiculously difficult time wrapping my head around the idea that there will be a time, a time which is fast approaching, when I'll be completely finished with public education. And not just me, either. All of my friends-- done. 

And all of my friends grown up. Or at least, judged grown-up enough to move out on their own, with all the responsibilities that entails. Old enough to smoke, to vote (I GET TO VOTE, AND SOON-- LOOK OUT, AMERICA). This all just seems so totally off-the-charts crazy to me. I mean, today in Biology we were giggling about frog goo. Is it really possible that soon, I'll giggle about frog goo and then go back to a dorm? Where I'll be living? On my own, sans parents? It doesn't feel possible. It also doesn't feel possible that I'll have to find different people with which to giggle about frog goo. I'm going to miss you guys.

I'm thrilled to graduate, of course I am, if for no other reason than that I worked hard for this, and so did you guys, and we all deserve it. I'm pretty sure everyone who reads this blog signed themselves up for AP classes, for sports, for extracurriculars that demanded their time and devotion and energy. Some adults may blow off high school students like we're no big deal, like we don't know what real work is like, but we totally do and no one can tell me differently. 

But even so, graduation is scary. And more than that, it's sad. So I'm scared, and I'm sad, and I'm also proud of everyone I know, and incredibly fond of all of you. 

At least we're all sitting here in the dark together, wondering what comes next. I wouldn't want to be stuck in this place alone (if I needed a metaphor, I might say small, windowless, stuffy closet, hurtling out of a twentieth story window, about to hit the ground and shatter open and fling us all to the far corners of the world, shaken but relatively unharmed-- but eh, I don't really want a metaphor). 

I guess what I'm trying to say, guys, is good luck. :]

In which I thank everyone who made my weekend wonderful, no one has a p-p-poker face, and I almost lick Camille.

Wasn't this weekend just...really, really awesome? Um, yes. YES IT WAS. Some quick thank yous...

Dear Laurel:

Hi, you're awesome! I spent more time at your house than mine this weekend, I'm pretty sure. Thanks for the fab times! :]

Dear Random People Whom We Met In The Parking Lot:

If it wasn't for you, we'd still be looking for parking; thanks so much for paying for our space! I still can't believe that stupid machine wouldn't take Sam or Camille's debit cards, but at least you were there, credit cards in hand. I hope you found a way to spend all the one dollar bills we used to pay you back. 

Dear Prom DJ:

Um. At least you didn't play Poker Face? So thanks for that!

Dear Mom and Dad:

Thanks for being completely unfazed when I walked in the door at 12:30 in the morning and asked if I could please leave again. And thanks mom for letting me borrow your necklace. :]

Dear Sam and Camille:

YEAH.

I totally love you guys. :]

("Your tongue is so close to my face!"

"I know! I was like, 'Okay, if I lick her? She's probably gonna notice!'") 

Dear Sam and Camille and Jacob and Phil:

Aren't we just stellar? Answer: yes, yes we are. 

Dear Everybody Else:

You were great too! :]

In which my soul gets stomped on, and there is Calculus, Batman, and a disproportionate amount of crazy people in Alaska.

Hiiiiiiiiiiii.

So I was thinking about this, and I like the people I am friends with! And the thought of leaving everyone (in mid-August! what is that?!) makes my soul feel like it is being stomped on, just a little. Not in a scary way, where I am totally unable to make it through life on my own and need to keep you all around me forever and ever. Just. In a sad way?

(Or possibly in the aforementioned scary way! I will keep that to myself, though.)

Luckily for all of you, instead of trying to explain this, I am going to post pictures. 

This, for example? Is some (slightly questionable) Calculus being used to prove that Batman's secret identity is Bruce Wayne. If this was what we'd done in Calculus, I would have understood math's real-world applications!

This is secretly the reason I haven't learned to drive. If anything at all went wrong, I'd call Car Talk. Er. If there are secret NPR geeks reading my blog, YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

Alaska is off-the-charts gorgeous. It also has an impressive proportion of odd people to normal people, considering the relatively small number of people who actually inhabit it. I mean, when you think about it, there are a lot of bears in Alaska. And some salmon. Probably there are rabbits, because the are rabbits in most places. THERE ARE ALSO MOOSE.

The point is, the number of crazy people in Alaska is disproportionate.

Moose!

Monty Python and koalas are two things that are on my mind right now, filed under the category of Really, Really Fab. Just in case you wanted to know.