First, I will wake up at the usual time, 6:00 am. I will proceed to take a shower and get ready for school. By this point, I can only hope that my shop teacher's cancer came back so he would miss the rest of the year and, if I was lucky enough, die. I will leave the house at 7:08. Normal for me, even though I'm supposed to be out at 7:02. It makes me feel oh so naughty when I leave 'late'. I could go as far as to say that it makes my pants tighter. Anyway, when I get on the bus, I take the seat in front. Directly behind the driver isn't the best spot, but it keeps me from having to listen to those fucking stoners and their 'wake n' bake' stories. First period is gym. That's only today though, because it's the last day of the trimester and I get new classes. Old Weaver will yell at me to do something, even though I'm one of the only three decently in shape people in my class. The rest of the day consists of me being puddi at everybody. Whether it be the cafeteria worker that provides me with food or the skanks that surround me in the halls, trying to make up a reason as to why they smell like sex. It's because you are a FUCKING WHORE. Ah, Journalism. The only class I had that didn't make me want to kill myself. There was one girl there that really stuck out. Brianna something. She once told me that I'd make the 'perfect gay friend'. Guess who's not gay. This guy. Next class is Compararive Cultures, where we talk more about how my buddy Denny looks like fat Jesus than we do about anything. After that is 3 straight hours of shop. The teacher, though I hate him with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, will remain unnamed. Once in this class, I had the displeasure of failing a test. My reward? 500 word summary of each technique in my Server+ book. Ended up being 12,000 words. I now fantasize about holding him underwater until I see that last bubble float up and, like all of my hopes for that class, self destruct.