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I now understand how high-stress and high blood pressure are related.

You know, I say that, but how do I know what high blood pressure feels like? And can you get it sitting on your bed on a Saturday afternoon in Evansville? Probably not when you're sixteen. English and History crap is killing me, but as cliche as it sounds, it is good to know that most of us are in the same boat. I just wish I was in one of my annoyingly productive mind-sets for the last month of school. Alas, I resort to convention and go on autopilot. Which gets me back to the high blood pressure when I realize just how much I have to do.

And as much as I hate that convention, I hope it is true what they say, that Sophmore year is the suckiest one. A lot of work and not a lot to show for it. For now, I hope.

On a much more culture-in-a-completely-deprived-place note, the succession of shows linking my early high school to late high school career will go as follows:
Brighton Beach Memoirs, West Side Story, Annie, The Diary of Anne Frank
The last one, of course, hinges on chance (among other things) but we're always hopeful.

I can't wait until it's June 11. Painfully obvious events aside (hi, the Tony's), I will also have been able to get past the end of school, the recital, and all of the other wierd transitionary elements of late May-early June. And just be in the summer.

I have to get through mid May, unfortunately, to get to late-May, though. And mid-May blows.
But pages eventually turn.