Well. It's all over. The end has been reached and passed, and my world has descended into a numb unreality.
Yesterday, I graduated from high school.
Thus, this diary must come to an end.
My original goal was to post a page every day. As you can tell, I fell far short of that feat. It wasn't a particularly realistic benchmark to meet anyway--a page a day, what with homework and college applications and senior project and procrastination. I was lucky to make it through the first week. But enough of that. That isn't interesting.
In short, the best way to sum up my year is to paraphrase Charles Dickens. Senior year was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. In terms of my social life, it may very well have been the best year of my entire life. I reconnected with some old friends and made a bunch of wonderful new ones. I went to prom, I attended an actual party, I went to Disneyland with choir, and there were times that I felt like I was having the sort of high school experience that you see in the movies. I still don't have a boyfriend, nor have I ever gone out on a date, but that doesn't matter to me. I have the best friends that anyone could ever ask for, and I had so much fun.
On the other hand, academically, it was the most stressful year of my life. The classes weren't as challenging as they were junior year, nor was there as much homework, but there was an awful lot of other things I had to do in order to graduate and go to college. Also, I got a really bad cold, or possibly flu, after the Disneyland trip, and missed almost an entire week of school. This during the most important unit of Calculus. While I recovered from my illness, my grade never did, and I ended the year with the worst grade I've ever gotten in any class ever. Furthermore, senioritus is actually a thing, and it's contagious. I caught it from my friend N. Thus follows an actual exchange that occurred during Anatomy in mid-May:
N.: "Guess what? I didn't do the homework."
Me: "Me neither. I made it into a paper airplane and tossed it around the Rose." (For those of you that don't know, the Rose is what we call our black box theatre/rehearsal room. I had been there the previous night because I was working on the costume crew for Three Musketeers.)
N., holding up his hand for a high five. "Awesome! Wait...why am I encouraging this?"
But in the end, I pulled through. 245 of us did, out of a class of 248. We got to choose our walking partners for the processional, and I walked in with N, arm in arm, he in his red cap and gown, bedecked with his Oregon Thespians sash, I in my white garments with my blue and gold Mu Alpha Theta cords, while our red and white tassels did their best to swing into our mouths, and the band and orchestra's slightly off-key rendition of Pomp and Circumstance echoed in our ears, and people cheered and waved at the red and white snake as it wound its way through the lawns, down the stairs, up the street, and down the red carpet to the band shell like one long, rambling run-on sentence.
It still hasn't hit me that I'm never going back to high school.
Next year, I, along with two of my classmates, will be attending a small liberal arts college in Washington state. Many of my other classmates will be attending local community colleges and state schools, many others will be spreading all over the country. Some of them I will never see again.
It's a very strange thought.
We, the graduating class of 2014, are a class no more.