the P.Pole

well, i went to pick up my timetable this morning. after dropping off my mom and grandfather (at the hospital) and my sister (at daycare), my dad promptly made for my school; something which he hadn’t done in the past two months. i’m thinking that this coming year, i’ll be getting into the habit of bussing to and from school, extra hour everyday. not that i’ve ever let such trivial things such as long distances get in my way before… anyw00t, i met up with an acquaintance (a friendly one i guess) and we chatted until the stubborn lady would let me get my timetable and leave.
see, my dad dropped me off at 9, and waited to see if i could – if i was lucky – grab my timetable early and he could drive me to finch (since he was going north after anyway), which would’ve saved me HOURS (of waiting and bus time). obviously, they didn’t let me cut past “procedure” so i waved for my dad to leave.
i waited almost an hour until 0955 hours, when i asked for my stuff. denial.
“You’re still technically early.”
i thought to myself, “At least you won’t be late when i slap you into next week.” waited another 5 minutes, gathered my stuff – what an ugly agenda – and left. i also noted that, confirming my fears (or more like presumptions), i’ve got Science, English, Math and French for the first semester. great. then i’ve got Economics, History, Civics/Careers, and French (Grade 11, IB level… God help me). this’ll be interesting. if nothing else, it’ll prep me for actual IB which only starts in earnest in Grade 11. for some reason, i’m feeling not in the least bit anxious. bring it on, world.