Finals

I grasp my cup of tea. The warmth from my cup makes me feel great. Finals. This is something kids shouldn’t be worried about until high school. But one drawback to going to a private school is the consequential  privilege of more work and tests. One by one the terrible and horrible tests pile up on top of each other. Like a stack of smooth and creamy flapjacks. One good shockwave of having tests comes not much homework. But the homework that is assigned is what I call the homework that never gets done. “STUDYING”

No matter how hard I try and make good out of this studying it comes and bites me in the but. The inventions that keep me from studying are little things I like to call the internet and the Television. These things are killers for the occasional studying phobic adolescent. Study phobic is a little harsh more like study impaired. As I continue my homework I still have the thought of many tests to come and many tests past comparing these to each other. Finals are my least fears as strange as that may seem my biggest fear is getting my grades back. Not that I am an antiquity performing student but… well… no comment.

My cup is now half empty or half full depending on the way you look at it. The sun is setting on a cold autumn evening. And the snow from the latest storm still lingers on the ground.

Test by test each one goes by as if each one was a year. Six years in all this week. One technique I use is asking friends who have already taken certain tests how it was in terms of difficulty. I have asked many friends. But the answers stay the same. “ Fair.” Just fair not great not terrible not arrogating not deteriorating by the test, just fair. So I step into my classroom and get ready for what may be the worst week in my life. I am ready.

I ask my mother if she will fill up my cup. The drops enter and now it is all the way to the top. “This is the final one,” my mother answers. “I bet it is,” I answer back.