Sometimes I will be in school and not know why I am there. When all of my thoughts are not concentrated on calculating the number of minutes until glorious lunchtime, I start to ask myself why people care so much about educating us. Educating me. Several of your first reactions are probably something about my being an ungrateful American (coupled with a few expletives), but it is actually my love of school that prompts these thoughts.

I was the kid who would secretly bawl in their closet after first grade ended. You probably didn’t know such a child existed, but she does. Even then, I knew that the end of a school year meant some amount of time had vanished. But no one else seemed to care. That was the most upsetting of all.

I found that nothing changes when you make the supposedly LIFE-CHANGING transition into high school. For whatever reason, I had this hope that high school would be full of “melancholics” like me, who would lie on each others’ bedroom floors after school got out and ponder what to do with life now that the structure and solidarity of school was no more. Well, I thought wrong.

The thing that keeps me from a total depression during school breaks is knowing that these lapses in school are completely uniform, like school itself, and everything will be back to some degree of normalcy soon. For now, just stay alive. Just eat. Just draw. But what would I do if my constant—the inevitable return of school—were to evaporate? What if the adults have an epiphany and decide that educating us semi-adults isn’t worth their time and resources? It’s fragile; they seem to believe in us more than I believe in us. And the thing is, it’s only spring break.

P.S. Hey, everyone! Hi Mom, thanks for reading! And GOODNIGHT, WISCONSIN! ♦