8:40 am - Thursday, Nov. 14, 2002
Song:
Clinging to the stuffed elephant given to me by Chris. It smells of him and his brother apartment and the incense of my room. He�s my new comfort object. Finding them all the time at age sixteen. Is that sad, or forgivable as my head feel like a block of wood and I�m staying home sick, again.
Nothing is that important right now. Start of quarter things. Handing out the labs we�ll do next week and telling us what to expect until January.
We may be expecting teacher strike, though it�s a low murmur. It�ll grow over the months. We hear they may not come back after winter break. I saw the calendar in the Oregonian yesterday. Fifteen school days cut from the year. All three-day weekends in May.
As much as I despise school at times, I�m even shocked by this. How are we supposed to pass the IB exams or understand what we�re supposed to do next year if we can�t go to class for it this year. We�re falling behind ourselves.
I say as I cuddle into my blankets and spend the day trying to get better. But I�m not going to learn with a block of wood as a head, and they�re not going to teach much of anything with their pay being cut daily.
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