I remember in the summer when I would look forward to Senior Year. I still do, don’t get me wrong. In fact, I’m already making plans for Just Because Week, Spring Break, Morp, Prom, and all that Senior Stuff. My classes, on the other hand, seem to be the opposing force. My first semester classes weren’t that bad. It was rare if I did homework at home; I could probably count the number of times I sat down to finish an assignment outside of school on my hand. My second semester classes are different though. I think in a good way, but I’m not entirely sure…
Let me first say that I’m not an English person. I’ve never been bad at it but I never thought of myself as an astonishing writer or any of those praised nicknames. Something changed when I walked into this composition class though. With only the first assignment I found myself not writing to fill space or make it to a certain number of pages. I found myself writing because I wanted to, because I had something to say.
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