Confusion floods every cell in my body as my mind repeats the same phrase countlessly. I am a Junior. I have two APs, the only flute case in my hands is composed of air, and my time spread so thinly that I’ve yet to even visit “my home away from home”—the band room. My position in band has been replaced with the position of a Science Olympiad Captain while band broadcasts and messages from the director have been replaced with emails from my AP Biology teacher. Transitioning from Summer to School took practically no time whatsoever as Skype calls with no purpose got instantly replaced with study sessions; nights of supporting and helping one another with topics ranging from the difference between Carbonyls and Carboxyls to ways to stay awake during late night studying. My 1300 page Biology book is now my child while my friends consist of other Biology Baby parents and my best friends are my lab partners and anyone who offers to tutor me in Pre-Calc.
English Class feels recreational beyond being amist confusion. She[the teacher] recently introduced the method she wants us to write our essays; the way I’ve known about for years, but have struggled to find an outlet to improve on my own so either went against the grain of Honors teachers or saved the style for personal work. AP English has been one of those things where’s it both vaguely familiar and different; similiar methods, but with the support of the teacher—in class…not just me alone with a pen/paper or screen. As strong as I feel as I writer, I feel weak—it’s troublesome to know how much I know and much I have to know; for grades, not just me—days of writing just for myself are so far behind me, it’s foreign.
Write an outline…BS it in a matter of minutes; knowing I’m hurting myself in the long-run.
Spend an infinity questioning all the possiblites of the writer I can become as a result of this class—loose myself in rhetoric translations.
I love learning—I always have, and always will…I just need to find the strength to keep pushing myself with a greater force than I always have. Burning out isn’t an option since there’s always going to be a candle wick to light. I just have to find it.
The idea of college still scares me—it really does, it always will. Writing will be my ticket in. It always has, it always will—forever a constant, never a vowel.