The night before my first day of freshman year went like this:
'Sis: Are you nervous?
Me: Eh. Not really.
'Sis: Do you think you'll find your classes all right?
Me: No. But I'll just follow my friend (Critique Partner P) or something.
And thus I'd went to bed, closed my eyes, and drifted off to Dreamland in a matter of two hours. Which, considering my sleeping schedule over the summer, is pretty impressive.
There was nothing spectacular about my first day at all. Nothing. Marching band was literally the highlight of the day (which isn't saying much actually, considering band camp). I was just...drifting through the whole entire thing. Everyone's so quiet in class, it's messed up. I miss middle school, where no one was afraid to laugh out loud during even the lamest jokes, where everyone was friends, where everything was loud and happy and carefree. High school is wooden. Stiff and awkward. (Besides Spanish II, which was pretty loud and enthusiastic, thanks to the teacher.)
I told my sister this and she said something about how it'll get better. About how she loved her freshman year way better than middle school. Somehow, I can't believe that. Middle school was great. So far in my freshman year? Nope. Nada. Even homework is more interesting than school. At the moment, anyway.