Living off a teacup full of cherries

Ay, school registration today.  In a nutshell, I saw a lot of wonderful people, managed to snag a bottom locker (really, what happened to seniority?), obtained my new school ID, found out my class schedule, and waited in a painfully-slow line to receive my textbooks.  My schedule is looking goooood; I happen to have every single class with one of my best friends.  Although we’re both stoked about this miracle, there is, in fact, a “Debbie Downer” comment to be made: we mutually agreed that we’re going to get sick of each other by the end of the year.  In all of our stubbornness, stressfulness, and competitiveness, it may not be a good idea to place us in the same classroom for four hours in a day.  We have a sort of love/hate relationship… I basically treat her like I treat my own sister.  But hey, I can’t complain.  It’s our last year together in high school, and I want to see her as much as I can before we go our separate ways.  So, YES, I am pleased.  I got extremely lucky.  Excuse me while I do a happy dance around my room…

Enough of that teenage rambling.  Seriously, I’m not in seventh grade.

Lots of people have been asking me how my summer was.  (Past tense, booo!!)  I usually say it was “Good.”  The word “good” is deceivingly vague, as it can mean anything from “subpar” to “marvelous.”  And that’s entirely why “good” is the best answer for such questions!  My summer was everything from subpar to marvelous… there were times when I was beyond elated, and there were times when I literally needed a punching bag because writing college essays is frustrating business.  Through all my exasperation with a nagging mother and countless sentence revisions, I am still thankful that I have the bulk of my applications done.  It saves me a whole lot of stress during the school year.

Moving on to a slightly more sinister topic, there was a massacre on my front porch last night.  I, in temporary good spirits, opened my front door this morning to find blood splattered across the tiles and on the wall.  My reaction was #1 SCREAM #2 Shut the door #3 Call my sister over to look.  I felt like I was in one of those NCIS or CSI shows where the innocent bystander discovers a gruesome murder scene in front of their house.  Naturally, Kendra and I (actually, only Kendra; I was too scared) had to investigate a little further, so she stepped outside and surveyed our driveway for more clues to what happened.  I eventually joined her outside when she said that there was really nothing too gross.  It was a relief that we didn’t find the mangled body of an animal, or god forbid, A DECAPITATED HUMAN– there were just smaller patches of blood and some reddish footprints of a coyote or a killer raccoon.  Bottom line, some vicious creature had a ravishing feast last night.  Case closed.

I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t take any pictures of this spectacle to show you.  I’m not sure that I would allow said photos to occupy space on my computer’s memory.  If a random person opened my iPhoto program and saw them, it could go one of two ways– either they would think I was a crime scene investigator or a psychopath serial killer.  I feel strongly that I should not be identified as either.

*Title of post: “So Far Around the Bend” by The National

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