reflecting on the year spent sitting in front of a gandhi quote

5:49 PM

While signing yearbooks, I read through the columns of senior quotes. Some of them were so, so stupid and others almost made me cry and a couple were clearly inside jokes. While reading, I remembered my favorite seniors arriving late on information day in August, too cool to get new haircuts but still excited enough to speculate on graduation. Now it really is finally approaching, and I miss them already and hope that they are considerate enough of their parents' money to write their names on the insides of their caps so they can re-find them after throwing them in the air, celebratory.

And then I think of myself, and what sort of person I've become this year. I grew out of my love for college hoodies because they bunched at the neck. I can finally answer what my favorite songs are. I took detours to avoid going to classes too soon after the bell, and thus met some really friendly people. I sent and received rebate cards. I had a spring break that would be insulted if I called it adequate.

I try to write of all these things in an aware manner. I hope that the attention I've learned to give to writing this year has helped me become coherent. In third grade, the teacher complained that she couldn't make sense of my stories because I included too much detail. If I wanted to explain a dog I saw, I would attribute an entire paragraph to its fur color. I still do that, but AP Lang's strict guidelines have forced me to stop rambling for the sake of grades. The class timed writings have really sped up the process too. Twenty-five minutes to write an argument essay (holla) for the SAT seems time enough.

But being mostly present in class has seriously lowered my faith. I noticed that I write in the same way over and over, and it annoys me. I use polysyndeton like it's the only rhetorical device, and it's pure agony to have to ration hyphens so Zavitz (lovingly referred to as Z-money when she leaves the room) doesn't think I can't function without them.

I still hate the things I write. I wish poetry were an acceptable medium for the AP exams because like past me of nine months ago, I overenjoy metaphors. It'd be wise to focus on paragraph transitions and support examples instead, but right now, the world will just have to deal with my shortcomings. Maybe I'll be useful for something, like classified: Looking for additional textbook writer. Must be inefficient communicator.

Reading books doesn't require as much skill though, so I haven't screwed that up this year. The Scarlet Letter, The Great Gatsby, The Awakening were books I'd meant to read but never had. And now I can be excited for Leonardo diCaprio and Carey Mulligan in the upcoming Gatsby film, and whatever, I enjoyed Kate Chopin. Rapidfire reading of classics has really, just. It's kind of made me more appreciative of symbolism and how someone insignificant can leave a legacy. Kate Chopin wasn't easy on the eyes, apparently, but look at her (well, not look at her; she was ugly).

I'm half-panicked for the multiple choice and synthesis essay for the AP exam next week. When people give me ten pages of information, I tend to make my own information up, so I should stop doing that. "As evidenced by document B, all American presidents have been dark, brooding characters." Then the grader finds out that #B is actually a political cartoon about democracy in Congress. For real, though, I wish as many synthesis as argument essays had been done this year, due to its occasional trickiness.

And adieu to those group worksheets. Doing those were the pits. I hated them, and would have much preferred for a question to be written on the board and for everyone to just magic marker some answers to read aloud as a class. Like a half-written, half-oral seminar.

AP Lang was such a long course in realization and correction. Maybe it should get a yearbook so I can appreciate it some more with what I hope is good writing. And if it's not, that's okay too. And if it is, what a relief.

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