Happy and Giddy

I'm sitting on the carpet in the living room. My grandparents are sitting on the couches, and we're talking. I'm doing something, maybe making a collage. I'm happy. Content. It's summer and it's going to stretch into forever.

My mom comes in and off-handedly remarks that we need to go school supply shopping. I burst into tears.

She does have a point. It's two weeks before the start of seventh grade and I have done nothing to prepare. I am in my blissful state of denial. Denying that I will have to spend the next nine months in classrooms with peers that I don't feel comfortable with and will always be worrying about superficial things that I really don't care about, while learning absolutely nothing.

I'm embaressed, because I'm generally not a burst-into-tears type of gal. But I'm too upset to stop.

***

For the four years after that, I didn't burst into tears. I knew that school was coming, and that I couldn't just ignore it. I got ready and bought supplies and saw the date rapidly approaching on the calendar. But I didn't talk about it. And school was a bad word in our household.

But a funny thing has happened.

I'm excited to go back to school. Actually looking forward to it. And I can't get over the strangeness.

I used to love learning, and it makes me sad how much school has become the enemy of that. I learn. But mostly because I want to. Because I put in the effort.

This year is my senior year. My last year of high school. I'm beyond excited. To be done, and have it over with. To get out. Hopefully go someplace better.

I'm also excited to be taking actual classes at school. I don't know if it will last; if my energy will be able to keep up. I want it to so badly. So I'm going to try.

And yes, I am actually excited about the learning aspect of school. Anatomy and Physiology and Spanish. They make me happy and giddy.

I love being happy and giddy about school. I really do. And I've missed those feelings. I'm filled with hope.