Ebb, Flow, and Monty Python

Note: I wrote this a while ago.  I wasn't sure I was actually going to post it, but a week of final exams went by and I decided this was passable as far as posts go.


As I write, it's 5:15 in the morning.  A dark inky storm swirls the skies beyond my room.

The seniors' last day of school.  My school makes this whole big shebang out of it, where the seniors promenade around the school auditorium.  Some of them cry, some of them take on the "see ya, suckers" attitude, and a good portion of them just stare straight ahead with that same blank gaze that they have as they stride through the halls, trampling little freshmen like me in their path.

I only knew a few seniors this year beyond their names, but it was still a little bit sad to watch them leave.  When the sole senior in my Spanish class walked out of the classroom, I realized that although I had seen him as just that kid that sits diagonal to me and makes fun of my many facets and my smoothies, he really was a pretty good friend.  Shoutout to you, Nino.

He asked for this, by the way.  He also asked that I tell this story:

First, you should know that there are four of us that sit in the corner in Spanish class.  It looks like this:

Girl who likes to remain anonymous Me

Nino Junior High Child(she's only a year younger than me but I pretend I'm much wiser)

We had been doing our homework in class, as all students are lucky enough to do on occasion.  Nino, however, had gone and done his all out of order.  In pen, of course.  As he loudly proclaimed his tragedy, Junior High Child slammed her hand on her desk and exclaimed, "Boi.  You need some Wite-Out?"

...I think it was funnier if you were there.  But this story was my duty to my Spanish Class amigos, and thus I shall carry through with it.

"That is a toxic color." -Nino

The seniors aren't the only ones leaving.  One of my bestest bestest bestest friends is moving away.  don't really know what I'm going to do without her.  Of course, we'll stay in contact, but it's just started to sink in that she's not going to live here anymore.  The weirdest part is going through the day pretending nothing's going to change.  I want to cherish our time together, not waste it thinking about what's going to happen next, which is hard when we can count the days we have left together on our fingers.  I'm not even sure what to say at this point.  For her, this sensation is probably magnified.  Here I am angsting over it when she's the one actually doing the moving.

By the way, go to her blog, it's really great.  She just started blogging again this past month, and it's fantastic.

And just like that, it's not an ending.  When my friend leaves, that means a new blogger from a far-off land to correspond with.  A new pen pal.  A new story.

When the seniors graduate, a new set of baby sevvies comes to the school.  We can watch them with the standoffish disdain and mild sympathy that an upperclassman regards junior high kids with.  Despite the fact that we are only a few years their senior.  Despite the fact that we are kids ourselves.

There are new opportunities, new ideas, new interests.  In fact, everything seems interesting.

I've started running.  I'm not very fast, and I don't run very long or very far, but I enjoy it.  I like being out of breath, and feeling my heart hammer in my chest and ring in my ears.  I like being sore and exhausted afterwards.  It's very cleansing.  I was going to run this morning, except it's storming and jet black outside.

I've been playing more music- playing with people, playing for people, doodling little melodies on the bass by myself.

Things rise and recede and rise again like the ebb and flow a tide at the beach.  Or maybe things build up and then release, like the storm this morning.  Or maybe I could have thought up a deeper word than "things", but I had already written "things" and my laptop keyboard doesn't function particularly well as it is.  Anywho, my point is made, more or less.

I will end this post like the end of the first Monty Python and the Holy Grail: anticlimactically.

World peace and love,

Heather <3

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