Tomorrow

Yes, it's not really tomorrow, is it? I said I would write the rest of it tomorrow, but it's been done gone a week. And it's about to be do go another one. I found out that I am indeed exempt from all my exams except for photography. Photography is because Mr Hubbard is ridiculous. He expects that you're already an expert at what he's just taught you, and he expects that you can work with the speed of lightning. He vaguely explains five assignments and says they're due whenever, but there's not enough time to do them because when we're starting to make a dent there are all of a sudden three or four more projects. On top of that, there's the special "Secret Project", which is top secret until information of it leaks out somehow and we all have to up the pace even more to get all this crap done by the end of the school year. I think I got it all finished, but really I can't be sure. I got a B third quarter (it's a semester class), so I don't have any hope for exemption. I heard the exam is another project, and it takes about fifteen minutes, and the rest of the time you just sit around. I'll bring a good book.
-In two short hours I'm leaving to go to the band room. The current time is 0047. We're assembling for the trip to Washington, DC to march in the National Memorial Day Parade on Monday. Ah, what fun! Ah, what good times! Why in the hell did I ever sign up for this trip? I'm going to be in a cramped bus with probably a minimalist approach to air conditioning, and I'll be unable to stand up for upwards of nine hours at a time. On Monday at about noon we all get to march for what according to Mr Canter is a mile, but according to Matt (who has Google Earth) 1.3 miles. If you've never marched in a parade before, I don't know if I can describe the pain that comes with roll-stepping unceasingly on hard pavement. It comes in your calf muscles, like hot irons left to glow red inside your leg. Then it spreads, into your shins. Then you're walking through a thousand-degree fire for the rest of the parade, everything below your knees left to smolder. I believe I've mentioned how much I hate it when it's hot outside, and down in the South it's supposed to be a high of 84°. Temperatures are measured with the thermometer in the shade. We will be in the hot sun in the middle of a street with long-sleeve thick-cloth uniforms and Triple-Itch™ Brand long black pants.
-It's summer now. We had a nice delay with that two-week rainstorm system, but it's summer now. When it's cold outside you can layer yourself against it. When it's hot there are no air-conditioned clothes. If you're outside there's no escape. I put on the least I can find--shorts, T-shirt--but I still get hot and sweaty and my clothes stick to me and I'm miserable. I need to get out of here. Yes, it's true: St Paul has a forecast high of 91°. But that's not usual. The next day, the high is a lot lower, and then there's a lightning storm predicted. Moreover, Minnesota has lakes. In Finneytown there are only swimming pools. I don't much care for swimming pools. They are full of chlorine and the urine of little kids and they are small and rectangular and they have absurd sets of regimented rules and nothing to offer once you get in except a chance to submerge yourself. The submersion is the only benefit. A few days ago I took a drysuit class in the indoor pool at the Y, and while I was drifting around underneath the surface in the process of increasing the indeliblity of the acrid chlorine smell I realized what swimming in a pool is like: it's like being able to fly, but only while confined in a small, featureless room.
-But I have to take what I can get. And, this year Crowduck isn't until August. Plus, I have to do all this college crap this summer. The time span between now and next December is shrinking at an extremely worrying speed. I don't know how anyone manages to pick out one single college before the deadline. I'm going to have to concentrate and take it one step at a time. Meanwhile I won't be able to enjoy the summer with no responsibilities like I like to do. No matter what I'm doing, I'll always have that nagging voice at the back of my head: "You should be working on college stuff." And what's more is the voice will always be correct, until I narrow the field down to ten candidates. It seems impossible. How do I eliminate 2990 colleges across the entire country NAY the entire country PLUS Canada (I'm looking into the Canuck factor)? What could be the possible problem with all of them? That they're in the South? That's one. But beyond that, how am I qualified to make a decision on their credentials when here I am, some dumb junior-going-on-senior, knowing so little about this higher education stuff? But I have no choice. I have to do it.
-Well, with that, I'm going to go take care of a few things before we leave to the band room.