I never thought Iíd get senioritis, but here it is, three weeks from graduation, and I can hardly manage to sit through an entire school day.

How did I go from a shy, passive, well-behaved freshman to a confident know-it-all who thinks sheís ready to take on the world?

Well, thatís a long story, but Iím going to tell it, so I apologize for all my boring memories youíll now have to read about.

A long time ago, when I was but a lowly freshman, I came into high school with wide eyes and an open mind. I didnít know a soul, but I was soon warmly accepted by a group of ëbandosí and the group of us has become inseparable. Weíve marched in parades, been chased by dinosaurs, survived a mechanical earthquake, been inside the human ear and watched Phillip Ocheltree (í04) eat steak and kidney pieówhich weíre told tastes like smelly feet. I donít know if this is true, but I am not going to be first in line to clear up any discrepancies.

From playing ëLouie, Louieí at football games to being bombarded by basketballs, from Chemistry to English class, I have many, well, interesting memories.

Freshman year, students aspiring to be better writers signed up for Greg Stobbeís ìmake ëem or break ëemî English class. When given the choice of writing an essay on Greek mythology or creating and filming a Greek myth our own, Iím sure you can guess what we opted for. I can still remember all of those cinematic masterpieces.

My group attempted to explain ëwhy it rainsí, but our movie was basically a weak attempt at feminism aided by half-drowned Barbie dolls and togas make from old sheets. Mount Olympus was stationed in a friendís garage filled with Nascar posters and featured a soundtrack taken entirely from Disney movies.

Chris Whiteís [ë05] group had arguably the best presentation. We all still laugh at the memory of his ill-tempered sock puppets, ominously called ëThe Mennay-Whoonayî, hopping across the bottom of the screen. I believe the boys were trying to portray why the heart beats, so, I guess the socks were creatures trying to beat their way out of a personís heart. I can still remember Brandon Diaso [ë05] sitting on the ground with a bloody hand coming out of his chest while he pretended to shriek in terror.

Thatís probably a memory he would like to forget and here I am telling it to the world. Oh well.

As a procrastinator, I saved chemistry class until this year, and I can say proudly that I sat at the best-behaved table in the class. Many of us, despite our efforts to learn, were, and still are, chemistry challenged. To alleviate our woeful attempts at learning new formulas and theories, we created our own songs. Imagine our table humming rock songs during a test because it helped us remember the mass percent and molarity.

As freshman and sophomores, my friends and I tried (really!) to act cool and mature, just like the seniors we idolized. As juniors, we realized that the ìmatureî thing wasnít all that fun. I mean, as soon as we leave high school, we have to act mature for the rest of our lives. Why not live it up while we can? As seniors, I hate to say, we are degraded beyond the point of hope, abandoning all sense of reason and acting like elementary kids at recess.

Despite all our good memories, we seniors find ourselves tapping our feet impatiently, longing to ditch the busywork and the over-repeated lectures, ready to try facing the world on our own. We know weíll fail horribly and probably make some terrible mistakes, but we are eager to try anyway.

So, like the Mennay-Whoonay, we seniors are beating our way out of the normalcy and tedium of high school, ready to face the world.