Thursday, 18 September 2014

Dreaming of the Weekend

Phew, I've almost made it. The finishing line, I mean. Just when I feared that I couldn't be further away from it, the end is now within sight.

After starting the week off with a down-in-the-dumps mood, the thing that truly makes my heart soar beyond the highest cloud is nearly in reach. Two sweet days of no school, ear-damaging noise and piles of homework that make you lose the will to live will commence in less than twenty four hours time.

From the moment that I hop onto the bus (if it even arrives or doesn't break down) and am travelling home, my mission will have been completed. Another week - five lengthy days solely about work, early starts and even more work - will have passed, firmly glued into the back of my book like the past is placed within, well, the past.

And, without boring you to the verge of sleeping through your deafening alarm clock tomorrow morning, the impatience to start enjoying my freedom right away is threatening to kill me. Literally!

Have you ever experienced that feeling which makes you crave something so badly - and definitely out of your control - that it is all that you can think about? And maybe what you are living for? All week, my heart has kept beating at the thought of winding down at the weekend, and temporarily escaping a routine that I've begrudgingly - for no teenager willingly sacrifices an extra five minutes in bed - embraced. That feeling has been present on my mind since the new week began on Monday, gradually gaining power as the days - which I worship like a chocolate Christmas calendar - have raced past me, at such a spectacular speed which would warrant a speeding ticket!

Although every day has required me to jot down the date, the numbers and day of the week don't mean anything to me; I feel numb, immune to any stirs or hints of feeling. It is only when a day like tomorrow - the oh-so-brilliant Fridays - approaches that I take notice of the date, and resurrect the emotions that have been stored in an airtight container since Monday morning.

Only when I'm doing something like this - unleashing my inner writer - that I come to life, and break out of routine. Of course, writing forms an essential part of my daily routine, but copying extracts from textbooks in class isn't quite in the same league as blogging, in which I can relate to my interests and write without any restraints. Despite the idea having nearly seduced me on a number of occasions, having a full-blown rant about why I despise week days might not necessarily be the wisest idea - for the reason would be associated to those who read my work!

And so, my existence as a part-human, part-robot is fading away, instead replaced with a girl whose spirit is burning like a lit candle. My skin is no longer sticking to tights as black as some girls' mascara, nor am I trapped in such tight garments whose proper title is school uniform. At the end of the day, clothes are clothes, and are generally materials that we place on our bodies to cover up the not-so-appropriate parts. But a compulsory uniform? Wearing such a nightmarish outfit which offers no favours for your developing body is like being handed a prison sentence! I already feel out of place because of being surrounded by unfamiliar people, so that feeling is further exaggerated if I'm wearing the ugliest - and the overall winner of the Most Shameful Clothing in my wardrobe - outfit known to mankind.

Anyway, only one more day to go until my blazer, skirt and white shirt that no longer smells of fresh flowers will be tossed in the clothing basket, unseen for several days. Seeing the obvious reminders of what we dislike - in my case, it also includes my bag, P.E. kit and so on - is hardly my idea of a great weekend because we should escape from that environment, otherwise we'll never get that break which we truly deserve. At this point, I can handle another few hours of bustle, classroom chatters and secretly smirking at the disruptive pupils receiving a dressing down because, unlike the horror that awaits you first thing on Monday, it won't last forever.

Two years of attendance somewhat horrifies and scares me at the same time because, along with the uniform, I could have been given a sentence for a crime that I did not commit - yet another one of life's cruel gifts! If panicking at the last minute each Monday is included in the package, God help me! My only hope is, over the space of time, that I'll get used to this routine and maybe not dread it as much as I currently do. Each day is another step towards making progress. Some things, like my countdown towards the weekend, may never cease to exist, yet I'm certainly able to help myself by not hiding away in bed until the last possible minute!

Overall, I think that, despite a few setbacks, I'm thriving in all my classes and actually enjoy being there once I've gotten off the bus in the morning. It's simply the thought of dragging myself away from home - and relentless access to the fridge, which is miles better than any capacious canteen - that forms my reluctance to go when I wake up, but it probably applies to most, if not all teenagers!

The first day was the toughest yet because, partly due to spending as many weeks off in the summer as I did during the summer term, I'd sort of forgotten what school life was like. Cue minor panic! Nearly two weeks on, that panic is easing, but is still there, its presence is the not-too-noticeable background. Long ago, I realized that I'm not particularly one who favours all types of changes, so it just seems that school has been placed in that unpreferable category.

For now, though, the battle is not yet over, but will shortly be beaten. This evening, I hope to equip myself with the necessary tools - like needle-sharp pencils - to defend myself in the fight that I recognize as school. The resting shall commence!

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