Gone are the days when I would disdainfully glance at the clock on Labor Day, watching the morning and afternoon slowly wane into evening, into nighttime, into the last few hours before the following, dreaded day. Gone is the queasy feeling that would consume the entirety of my belly as soon as I opened my eyes on September 2, my mind immediately riddled with anxiety of the coming day/school schedules/lockers/teachers/what I would wear/etc.
Can I tell you how happy I am that I’m no longer school-aged? Can I tell you?? As much as I loved learning and education and all that, there was something indescribably vomitous about that first day of school, that second day of September. Even when I finally reached college, I would greet the first day of school with the typical queasiness and abundance of nerves, wondering just what the ensuing day would bring. It was anxiety at its worst. (Is there anxiety at its best?) That said, you can imagine my fists-in-air glee at the fact that I don’t have to deal with that madness anymore. Join me in a yay and an extended sigh of relief, won’t you?
This Square Peg. 
The other day, my mother and I had a conversation about my senior year of high school. It wasn’t pretty, but it summed up, fairly well, my feelings about my entire high school experience: I hated it. Waking up in the mornings was torture, because I just did not want to go. I probably would have flunked out if it weren’t for my mother waking me up every morning and prodding me to go to school, pleading with me to “just show up, put in an appearance.” So yes, I will join you in your celebration. *does jig*
Thanks! Pop and lock right along with me and Leo! LOL
But, yeah, I completely understand that feeling. By senior year, I was so done.