the joys of yearbook

So... the yearbook is finally done.

HAHAHAHA.

You might be wondering why I find that funny. Actually, I don't. I've said those fateful words about fifteen times now, and each time they have been untrue. There's always another wound to discover, something more you wish he'd say... That song suddenly came into my head and I have no idea why. But it seemed to fit, because every little edit I make is like a wound to my heart... -sniff sniff- (I know, I know, I have the best imagery ever.)

Note to everyone in the world, ever, I don't care if you're an Einstein-level genius: working as yearbook editor will KILL YOUR BRAIN. WITH A CHAINSAW. AND LOTS OF MUTANT SQUIRRELS WILL COME EAT IT. (Note this use of caps lock. I hate caps lock. It sucks. But I hate yearbook more.) (And really, if you're that smart, you should already know to stay far, far away.)

And yet... I said I would do it again next year. I think that's a sign that my brain really has died.

I think I'll just go hit myself with a hammer now. It's just as productive.

blood and bright colours

Art class. The words conjure up visions of paint, of serious students focused on the creation of a beautiful work of art. It's a class that people want to be part of; since it's an optional class, there aren't any students disrupting the serene atmosphere of creativity. Nowhere in this idyllic fantasy is there room for screams.

So, of course, that's what happens in mine.

Right now, you're thinking- OMG OH NO! Is someone dying? What kind of catastrophe is this? Did a fisher wander in and destroy a priceless work of art? Was there a disagreement over paint colours during which someone was strangled? (Yes, those art students can get pretty fierce when someone harms their work. Also, they have access to all sorts of weird solvents. So, basically, if you've made one of them mad and your Ice Capp tastes off... don't drink it.)

No, what actually happened is that someone got stabbed by a chisel. More precisely, me. (DON'T WORRY, I'M STILL ALIVE. Mostly. Feel free to send flowers, though.) Now you're thinking- you just told us not to make an art student angry. Follow your own advice!

...The truth is, I have a nemesis. There's nothing I can do. She's hated me from the moment she came to this school, and she was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to POUNCE... or stab, as the case may be.

NO. IT'S A LIE. (Okay, the nemesis part is true. More about her another day. But she didn't stab me.) The actual truth? I am a klutz. I trip over orange squares on the floor. (In my defence, I had my eyes closed and my balance was impaired. No one believed me.) Giving me a chisel was a really stupid idea. (I told my teacher this, but he didn't believe me. In fact, he laughed.)

Well, he wasn't laughing when there was BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR. I think one girl actually fainted at the sight. (The stereotypical art student: pale, thin, glasses if they're male, hands stained with various mediums- not blood- nervous, apt to throw random references to artists into their conversation. So, not the sort of person who's really comfortable when one's hand starts gushing.)

And what do I end up with at the end? A blob of wax. (Yes, we were carving wax. No, I don't know why.) Not even an attractive blob, just a blob. (Also, there might still be blood on it. I'm a little scared to check.) Compare this with the princesses and penguins and platypuses (platypi? They're one of my favourite animals and yet their name still confuses me. Maybe it's the blood loss) that my classmates ended up with, and you can see why I'm feeling a little disgruntled. (Also confused. From the blood loss. I'm not usually confused, right? HAHAHA. Feel free to laugh now.)

sunscreen is my new best friend

And... I'm alive! I'm sure you were all bereft without the excitement of my amazing life. (Eat some cookies. They make everything better. So do cupcakes.) I apologise for not posting in several weeks. This absence is due entirely to one thing- the rare and mysterious beast known as the yearbook. It roams the school, causing chaos wherever it goes- watch out for papercuts and photos that make you look like a cow with indigestion or some equally lovely creature. Even better, it takes hours to make tiny edits. (Why do so many elementary students have to have weird nicknames? Who calls their child Lizzo, and why would they want that in the yearbook?)

Even better, my class picture makes me look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The photographers couldn't have warned me that my hair was tucked into my collar? Or that one of my eyes was closed? No. That would be too difficult. They can only manage to tell me to 'widen my legs' despite the fact that a) they don't show in the picture and b) I was wearing a skirt. Awkward... (Many cupcakes were needed to make myself feel better after that.)

It also seems bizarre that, last time I posted, I mentioned how cold I was. Now, it's only a few days into spring, and I already have a sunburn. (This does not bode well for the rest of summer. I have a feeling that I'm going to look like a tomato for the rest of the year. At least that wasn't the case in my yearbook picture... I don't even want to imagine the cross between a tomato and a hunchback. A hunchato?)Take that as a warning, dear readers- sunscreen is your best friend. (Unless you find tomatoes attractive. And if you do, please seek help, right now.)