S-a-t-u-r-d-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-y

Aloha, Scootonerinos!

That, friends, was a Louise SprinkleOfGlitter referenece. I think I’m starting a Youtuber greetings pattern here.

I’ve been really busy, and it’s quite ridiculous seeing that the things I’m busy with are little things that should not take too long to complete. Except if there are exactly 43 million of those little things that follow you everywhere. I’m not kidding, this grade eleven thing follows me into the shower  (don’t forget your physics assignment), into the bathtub (did you really think that your essay was due tomorrow?), under the blankets (oh, yeah, that rehearsal is today), and even in my tea. My schoolwork is working its way into my tea, and I can’t drink a hot beverage without thinking about the fact that I have an anthology due in two weeks.

On the topic of the anthology:

How it  works: You’re given free range on topics and you have to choose one that (a) you enjoy, (b) you can relate to, and (c) you pray you’ll finish. The project is assigned in January and is due in August. You have to write a preface of  1000 words, compile 3 songs, poems, fiction extracts and non fiction extracts, and write your own original poem, all related to your topic. The reading takes a while. The writing takes longer.

How it works for me: I only have to do one of each category, seeing that I joined the school about one and a half months ago. It’s a pleasure to do – my title is Life, Interrupted. It’s about fully functioning in a ‘functional’ society while living with mental illness. IT’S EXCITING. It’s also due on September 15th, the same day as a speech for Drama, and the week after my history project is due.

ABOUT HISTORY AT THIS SCHOOL

I’ve never failed a test. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve failed math tests before, but that’s because I’m usually horribly useless at the numbers game, except if it’s the maths used to create the graphs John Green made use of in the novel, An Abundance of Katherines. You can read about it here. I failed a history test at my new school, and I’m not blaming it on adjustment issues or whatever. The thing is: I don’t fail history. EVER. I failed thoroughly though, not a half-assed fail. 19/50.  38%. THIRTY EIGHT.

After a discussion with my teacher (generally knows what’s in the textbook and doesn’t know much other than that) and the head of department (knows stuff and seems to love history a lot) they concluded the following:

  1. I haven’t been taught to think in the correct way
  2. I have a limited vocabulary
  3. My old school must have had a low standard of teaching

Problems I have with their observations:

  1. what?
  2. what?!?!????
  3. oh hell no – what??

Yeah, that happened on Thursday and I’ve never been so angry in my life. I don’t think I have – I even cried (?) so I think that that’s an experience that I’m forever going to hold with me. Hopefully, my resentful sentiments change with time – like 20 years of it.

In other news: I HAVE 15 MOTHS LEFT OF HIGH SCHOOL!

Today is also day 100 of my #100happydays challenge. I’m having very mixed emotions about it. It’s also also my smallest little sister’s 13th birthday today! That’ll take some of the attention off and I’m truly grateful for that. This is her on the day I got Getrude (laptop). Selfie game level 43 000: taking the first pictures on a new computer that isn’t yours.

picture015

 

I’m tired, people (and anything else reading this – there is a Dog with a Blog so we can’t be discriminating here). It’s 1:18 in the morning and I fixed the printer and have a planner for September (?). Here we go!
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Later/whatever/other teenagerism

-Scoot xx

 

Update on the things ❄

Hello, Internet!

That was a direct danisnotonfire reference if you were wondering at all. As you can see, my posting schedule has gone out of the window. So has my birthday money, my razors, my eating habits, my exercise plan, my job opportunities, my internet connection and my cellphone charger.

My new (old) school is going great!

Seriously though, it’s not the school that’s making stuff go out of the window. It’s not great, and it’s not really good either,but I’m mentally alright-ish. I’m also talking to Jessica again (teenage girls have weird fallout and are now speaking again yay) and that’s not bad. However, in other news:

I ONLY HAVE 7 DAYS OF HAPPINESS LEFT!

If you have been visiting this here blog, or if you follow me on instagram, you’ll know that I’m talking about the 100 Happy Days challenge that I took. For me, it’s unbelievable that I’ve come so far and haven’t yet quit. Also, how quickly these days go past. I remember that on the 26th of May, I had a history test that I missed because I came home sick (thank the Lord because I was actually nowhere near ready for that) and then I started the challenge. 93 days later, here I am.

Am I extremely overjoyed yet? No. But I have done some awesome things in the couple of months that I’ve been taking this challenge. I’ve gotten a ride from a stranger who turned out not be a serial killer but the turned out to be equally as dangerous when he added me on Facebook (praise for privacy settings), I’ve fed a homeless person, I’ve done a ballet ‘photoshoot’, I’ve met amazing people, I’ve organised a matric dance (prom for you internationals), and I’ve gotten in more trouble than I can imagine. Do I regret anything? Possibly not taking more pictures, but otherwise, no. Am I happy yet? Well, ask me again in a week, won’t you?

In terms of my series, it’s actually going well! I’m still doing interviews and I’ll put them up whenever I can get the motivation to. As for right now, I have tonnes of work to do and a table to organise, as you can see. So I’ve got to be on my way. Thanks for bothering to read this, and I’m glad that I could possibly spread some of my procrastination on you! Remember that you as a being have a possibility for greatness that is both heart-stopping and immense.

Hide from all the things!

Hide from all the things!

See ya later, internet-gator. (is that a thing?)

-Scoot xx

Scoot On ~ Soundrtracks and Comebacks

I’m currently sitting on my bed, without – well, let’s not make everyone uncomfortable – I’m sitting on my bed without things you’d usually sit on a bed with. There we go, disaster averted! I just returned from an afternoon-turned-evening out with a friend, and mama wasn’t too happy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those kids who “hates their parents” even more than they hate their own sucky teenage lives. I love my mom. I also like to forget t tell her things that, in one way or another, directly affect her.

I like to go out. I’m also sixteen, and have to be driven around. There are no taxis that shall be taken by me after 6:30 PM in summer and 6:10 in winter. Yes, yes, I know, I could just ask my mom to take me places like the rest of you do. That, however, would require asking.

Asking is a simple process, theoretically: you pose a question, and in the case of the parentals it’s usually a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer that’s required, and await an answer. As teenagehood goes, questions are asked about where, when, why and what you shall be doing, and there will be talk of dangerous things like drugs and strange strangers in alleyways (but nothing of contact lenses falling out or toddlers who spontaneously throw up on things). And then, you get your answer. I think it’d be a lot easier if the answer came first, but hey, maybe I’ll think differently if I ever birth some baby children.

I DON’T KNOW WHY MY CONTACT LENSES ARE STILL ON MY EYEBALLS. (Actually, It’s because I can’t find their container thing right now. Hold on, I’m looking.)

FOUND!

Update: I just took my contact lenses out using a webcam. And my hands. Also, I’m now wearing a shirt.

Anyway, in my case the main question is usually, “How are you getting there?” and I usually skip that part of the conversation out, or I skip out the entire conversation, i.e I casually whisper that I’m going out and I’ll be back and then, I call my mom (usually with someone else’s phone) to “Please come and pick me up, please please.”

She gets annoyed and rightfully so, and then she sometimes comes out to get me, and other times she doesn’t. But this really is entirely my fault- she’s not neglectful or anything.

Well, as the story goes, I got home and she was in her state of annoyed-angry-confused-hurt, and that’s the least pleasant state. It’s like when somebody tells you that they’re disappointed in you plus your mom shouting at you plus seeing your mom tired – all those little thing compiled into a moment where you have no comeback to what is said, where “I’m disappointed” or “This will be the last time” or “Stop treating people like they’re insignificant” is the only soundtrack that goes along with it.

In my defense, I had no idea how this post was going to go, and this was not the direction that I foresaw.

Soundtracks and Comebacks by Goldfish popped into my head while I was looking at my mom eat, and I don’t know why. I just tried to imagine what the soundtrack to that moment for me would be. If we had to talk strictly music, I’d say Lost Kid, by The Apache Relay. My comeback was “sorry. good night.”

I hope yours is better.

All my love,

Scoot xx