Might As Well

Because today is the first day of school, the Foam Cabinet thought it to be brilliant to give me a recap of the first day of school. How very dull.


So I'll make it interesting! =D






My alarm blares at five thirty in the morning. Thinking it's an important text, my heart rate shoots up to a few zillion beats per minute. I look at my phone to see:




Get up. NOW. Oh, and God says, "Hello!"




This will be my text message from God every morning, unless someone is a brilliant ninja and changes my alarm note each day.


So, I got up after around fifteen minutes of "stupid" time. This time is where I lay in bed, but with my eyes open, not closed. I should probably do this sitting up, though. I have a sinking feeling that my body will sleep whenever it is in the horizontal position in the near future...




Eventually, my feet hit the ground. I grab my Bible and read about peace and joy and being unashamed. Then I get out of bed and put my art projects into my Really Useful Box. (That thing is almost as awesome as the Foam Cabinet, to be honest. It lives up to its name...)


After dressing in my red "J stands for teleportation" shirt, black skinny jeans, black Polo boots, and my pimpin' yellow jacket, I head off to find breakfast and the like.






My mom ends up taking me to school, so I didn't end up riding the bus at all today. I had too much stuff to carry. (Thank you, AP 3D Art!) We get to the school, and it's not even seven. I proceed to obtain my schedule and explore the campus.




This is my schedule:


1st - AP Art 
2nd - AP Art
3rd - Physics
4th - AC Math 3 (Basically Math 4)
5th - Honors US History


LUNCH WITH ALMOST EVERYONE I KNOW.


6th - Honors British Literature
7th - PERCUSSION!! (Followed by a few hours of marching band practice...)




Thus my days shall align similarly. 


First and second period blended together quite smoothly. Nothing interesting happened.


Physics consisted of Coach Way talking our heads off about stuff we've heard at least twenty times, and an observation activity. The observation activity seemed to expect us to be Canadian...


Math contains 13 students; the golden number of love--something like that. This is a fairly small number for a classroom in a school of well over 2000 students. I really like the teacher; he explains stuff in a simple, logical way. Morning Time says he's boring. I say he's awesome. Because I can actually take decent notes in that class.


Speaking of notes, I've got four special books for note-taking. They are as follows:


The Notebook of Love (Math)


The Notebook of Joy (Literature)


The Notebook of Peace (Social Studies/History)


The Notebook of Wonder (Science)


I love math, reading gives me joy, learning of the past makes my mind at peace for understanding, and science is math put into a complecated application of wonderous qualities. 




I'm such a nerd!




Anyway, I walk into US History (which has the same rockin' teacher as last year's history class), and the room is split. Most of the students sit at the side closest to the door. J-LO and Trixie sit on the complete opposite side of everyone else. Where do I sit? 


In the red seat located in the very center of the room, of course! Duh...


I'm obsessed with that single red chair. 




Lunch was a new experience. I ate with sophomores, instead of my usual band-junior-friend-people. And, instead of snaking and yaking inside, I ate out of doors. My Really Useful Box was a really useful table...


When I walk into BritLit, nearly all the seats are taken. The whole class is quiet, though, aside from the teacher's lecturing. As I sit down, I smile slyly to myself thinking, "Yes! A strict teacher who KNOWS what she's doing!" She's cool. I like her already. She's the kind of person you don't want to mess with. Odd... I'm a generally rebellious kid--in a good way. 


She establishes that a few of us (including me) are nerds, and that it is impolite to stretch. 




Percussion is the biggest class; probably because it's also for color guard. We sit. We listen. We change clothes. We go outside. We reherse for a few hours.






Day one: complete.






The End.


Or should I say... The Beginning...






That's the gist of it, I suppose. I apologize again about the absence of kitties. My camera's being absolutely retarded. 


All my papers are signed; my supper has been eaten; we're not allowed to play computer games or watch television except on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays; Walter Scott (Soccer Boy #13's real fake name) has yet to tell me about his day... It's nearly eight-o-clock. What a day in the life of Cale Josten.