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Right, so the test is over and I'm hungry.
I love this keyboard. The one at home kind of sticks when you push the keys, and they're shaped badly for human fingers. Plus they make this annoying clicky sound, so everyone can tell that you're on the computer at ten thirty and you still haven't gotten off three hours after your little sister threw a tantrum about it.
But anyways. The test was pretty easy, although there was one question about oxygen diffusing that I think I screwed up, and there was another one that I'm not positive had any correct answer at all. All in all, I probably scraped a low A or a B.
And since I've been blogging and I caught up on the next chapters of manga, I now will work on my stories for a while and do some drawing, working on my characters Hex, Sensei, and Shiho. And when I get home from school, if it is tolerably cool outside, then I'll take some slapshots. Hopefully they will have improved from last time. I gave up because I couldn't get them more than five feet away from me.
The thing is, right at the beginning when I was practicing, I got a really good one. Low but off the ground, and this thing had velocity. But I have no idea what I was doing wrong. I tried about thirty more extremely depressing times, changing something every time. My feet. The position of the puck. How fast I hit it. How bent my knees were. How far down my hand was on the stick.
And none of it worked.
But on a more cheerful subject, lunch is coming up soon!
Aha. My fishing in the black hole of my backpack (I should call it that. It is black, too. The Black Hole.) unearthed a Chewy bar. Oatmeal raisin flavored.
Aww sweet! He gave us the rest of the period to either finish our homework or relax or btoh. I choose relax.
I got 27 out of 30. Odd Bikachu got 25, haha! I hardly ever used to beat her at tests. I suppose this has something to do with seventh grade, but I didn't learn much back then. I didn't like my teacher and she didn't like me.
Come to think of it, I didn't like most of my seventh grade teachers. I didn't like any of my eighth grade teachers. But here, well...they're okay.
My train of thoughts is quite interesting. Yesterday Jonnie-chan asked me something about something. I linked that something to another something, and then something that we could sell, and then money, and naturally candy followed money. So I assumed he had candy and I asked him for it, rather than answering his question which I couldn't read in the first place.
And that was another random blurb in the middle of nowhere. See, you can't really tell why all of a sudden I mentioned my train of thoughts. But me, who was in my head all along, can't help but understand it perfectly.
Gee, I wonder how many other people are doing things other than homework. (This was not part of the other train of thought, this is a new train. I was looking around the classroom for something else to write about.)
And here I said I would draw. But blogging is a lot of fun! I can just write randomly. I'm not organizing my thoughts or anything.
Which reminds me. I'm not going to like English class until we get to creative writing, and then I might hate it anyway. The teacher is making a big deal about not just jumping in and writing, but making an outline or a graph or a visual aid or something that shows what you are going to write before you write it.
I HATE things like organizers. I HATE HATE HATE them. They SUCK.
Why, you might ask? Because I am a creative writer. I know what my story is going to be about and I have already started working on it in my head. I don't want to waste time working on the mundane details and picking it down to the bones and then rearranging everything all nicey-nice. It messes with the story. My stories and essays flow, they don't jump from one part of a chart to another. My stories are like days--they just move along, from one thing to the next, with the important bits standing out. Everything is connected. Even in this blog, I don't just randomly grab a new topic and...
Did you know that 13 people are killed every year by falling vending machines? I guess that's a reason why you shouldn't hit them when they don't work. It doesn't matter if they steal your money or not, you still don't want to
Less than one percent of all road accidents in Canada involve a moose. Weird, eh?
So when I got home, my mom told me about when my little sister--Let me explain this first. She was about three, and I was about six because this was in March when she's only three years younger than me, whose birthday is in May on
...start writing about it suddenly. I really don't. I might skip around a little, but there's always a connection.
Four--no, nine--minutes left until lunch. Well, occasionally I do that, but that's when the previous topic is finished.
To get back to my original point about the organizers, I hate taking apart the story and putting it in specific little bits. That's like creating a painting for a frame that's already been hung. (I hope nobody sues me about that. It was an example from Ouran High School Host Club.) It disrupts the story and the stream of thoughts.
I mean, sure, I take a lot of detours. The reason for that is that I am developing the background for the story. The characters and their lives start expanding in my head, until I can tell you why she doesn't like peanut butter and jelly when she doesn't even think about it throughout the entire story. So I do take some often unnecessary detours. But I always get back on the road, and I can edit out the off-topic rambling in the next draft.
A road would be a good metaphor here. So I'm riding along on my road, which is my story or essay, and someone tells me I have to go from here to here. I'm perfectly okay with going from there to there, so I do. Then they tell me I have to stop at certain places, and I can't go off this part of the road at all but there is a place here where there might possibly be a branch to a shortcut or an alternate route and then I have to know what direction I'm going and which towns I will pass through and how far it is to this town from this town and how long it will take me to get there.
When the road is broken up into little parts such as "This place until this place" and "That place to another place" it really halts things too much. I prefer to just drive, with the open possiblities.
And there's the bell. So ends my ramble.
Off to our first club meeting evar!!!