Greetings, dear readers~!

I wanted to write this entry yesterday, but I must’ve fallen asleep when I got home. Honestly, the hours after stepping through my front door are a blur to me. I do, however, remember the moments before I stepped through said door!

Yesterday was Friday. At least, it was Friday yesterday right now. By the time I upload this, who knows when Friday was? Perhaps the day before yesterday?

Anyway, on Fridays, my school dismisses us (the students) an hour and a half earlier than usual. I also have piano lessons on Fridays, two hours after the dismissal bell rings.

... Well, I suppose I can’t say “bell” any longer. I’ll talk about it in a later entry, probably. My school underwent some peculiar changes.

*ahem* So, after the “dismissal bell” rings, I hang around with my friends a bit. I sometimes visit my old school, seeing as it’s two or three blocks away, and see some of my former teachers. It’s quite a pleasant event. Other times, I head to my piano teacher’s house earlier and sleep on her couch until my lesson begins. It’s oft the latter.

For the past four weeks, my piano teacher has been on vacation, leaving my Fridays as free as air. I don’t remember what I’ve been doing these past few weeks, but something little happened yesterday that will be forever embedded on my mind.

There was a game at my school. It was either junior girls basketball or senior girls basketball. I didn’t attend, you see, so I haven’t a clue. I had Math 20 during third period and my Math professor was the team’s coach. Our class was enabled to watch the game, but I stayed back to read The Merchant of Venice, my play study for ELA 20.

I had ELA 20 fourth period. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a class that could be skipped freely. In fact, it cost two dollars! Which, given today’s economy, isn’t much for a high school student. Each game ticket was two dollars for a Saint (a member of my school community. We are the Saints; it’s our school symbol thingy-not-really-but-sort-of) and three dollars for any other human who wanted to watch the game.

I had bought a ticket during lunch merely to support the school. In all seriousness, I had no intention of going, but I thought it would be kind to purchase a ticket. In the end, it did pay off (hah!) somewhat because I had someone else go in my place. During third period, I briefly met a classmate named Vince and gave my ticket to him in accordance to his request. He was kind of sceptical, but I have no regrets.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing at the corner of my ticket tucked in my Pre-Calculus textbook.
“It’s a game ticket for today’s game. Are you going?”
“Nah, I don’t have a ticket.”
“Oh, you can have mine! I wasn’t going to use it anyway.”
“... really?”
“Yeah, of course. Take it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, now take it~~”
“Thank you so much!”
“Yeap, not a problem.”

And that was that. There went my ticket for a friend in need. Vince, if you ever read this, which I’m sure you will someday, you’re welcome! And thanks. It would’ve been a waste to own a ticket and not use it.

Anyway, back to fourth period. Most of the class had gone to the game, leaving maybe eight of us behind. My ELA 20 professor, Mr. Janz, knows I don’t attend games. I’m sure the last game I missed left an impression on him. I’ll... talk about that in a later entry. I spent yesterday’s ELA class working on some Bio homework. I had to construct a food web with the given information. It was kind of super fun. I didn’t finish, but I got a considerable amount of progress.

I was let out early. The hallways were empty since
1.) Most students were in the gym watching the game, and
2.) Every other student was in class since it wasn’t yet home-time.
I got my stuff early and put on my jacket and hat early and headed out early. I got the train early, catching one of the most spacious trains I’ve seen in a while, and caught the bus Route 41.

Route 41 is a series of destinations that mirrors Route 36. Both bus routes pass through two neighbourhoods, my own and some neighbourhood close by. The only difference between the two routes is that one passes through my neighbourhood and then the other, and vice versa. Route 36 is the one that passes through my neighbourhood first. For that reason, I prefer taking Route 41 so I can rest a bit on the bus.

There’s another way, called Route 136, which is basically a shortcut bus. I tend to not take this bus because I rarely catch it, and in the event that I do catch it, the destinations are too spaced out. In I miss my stop, I have to walk much too long to get home. Then again, walking home isn’t too bad.

Back to my story, I boarded Route 41 and was headed home. I contemplated on doing schoolwork on the bus (not too rare) but decided against it. For the previous two days, I’ve been waking up within the fifth morning hour and sitting there on my seat in Route 41 was simply too tempting. I let my mind wander a tad before dozing off completely.

I woke up two stops before Route 41 would be circling around again. Basically, this means I missed my stop by a long shot. I was a bit bothered at first because I was exhausted, in both mind and body, so I wanted to be home!

I pulled the wire that signalled to the bus driver the next stop was requested and walked to the front of the bus. Where I live, buses typically have two doors: one at the front and another near the middle-back. I prefer the front on because the bus driver opens it manually, thus guaranteeing it will open. The back door is a bit of a gamble as it seems to open and close on a whim. I mean, the back door does work, but only so many people can work it. I am not one of those people.

So there I was, at the front of the bus when the next stop pulls by. I thank the bus driver in a voice so sweet it surprised me and waved a polite hand before leaving. I thought I heard her laugh, “good night” but perhaps I hallucinated. I do frequent the hallucinogenic world.

The first thing I noticed when I left the warmth of the train was the warmth of the outside world. How cold was it last Friday, dear readers? Does anyone know?

I just checked the previous weather forecast. Apparently it was minus nine degrees Celsius when I left the train. Pretty chilly, I suppose.

I loved it. The sun was bright, but the clouds were kind enough to barricade me from her horrendous powers. I was walking for some time in this beautiful weather when I stopped.

Even now, I don’t know why I stopped. I don’t know why, out of the blue, my legs were temporarily immobilized. I don’t know why, but for just a few moments, the world paused.

And, for the first time walking home, I took note of my surroundings.

Now, I’ll have you know I don’t walk blind (although it seems like that sometimes). I usually look straight ahead and glace at my sides only to confirm I’m on the right road. Other than that, it’s a mixed between close pavement and distant pavement.

I had missed my stop a while ago, right? And so I had to walk a longer distance to get home. I was determined to make it there, but the will to be cuddled in home heating died with time. I was enjoying a chilly walk home by my lonesome. When I halted, I became aware of a park just a block or two to my left.

My neighbourhood is scattered with several playgrounds. I should be one to know. When I first moved here, looking for recreational areas was among the first things I did.

I saw, among the ladders, slides, and spring dinosaurs, an old swing set. There were two swings, one designed for infants and another designed for older humans. I was always one to prefer the baby swing.

Oh, I should talk about the baby swing in a future entry! It’ll be a CS entry or something.

I walked up to the playground.

How weird is that? *said in an extremely excited tone*

I’m the type of person who never goes on really, physical adventures. I mean, sure, I ride the emotional rollercoaster, but you don’t have much choice in that and it’s not nearly as fun.

For the first time, I strayed from an actual, tangible sidewalk and visited an alien landmark!

First, I went to the “adult” swing, still burdened by my racket and backpack. Oh, right, I had my badminton racket with me because I had badminton tryouts earlier that day (as mentioned in the pervious entry) and I had my backpack because I was headed home from school.

The snow all around the monuments was fresh and soft, with a thin crust that crumbled beneath my weight. Even the journey to the swing was entertaining!

I sat down on the adult swing and walked back, allowing myself a head-start on momentum. I launched backwards and tucked my knees in, hoping for a more aerodynamic position. The swing swayed forwards and back, but I wasn’t reaching any satisfying speed or height. I took my racket and backpack to the slide and placed both items on the boarding platform, finally realized how heavy my backpack was. I wasn’t carrying any textbooks, but I had everything else stuffed in there, including my gym strip.

I returned to the adult swing and swung not even four squeaky pendulum motions before jumping off and stepping into the baby swing. I stuck one foot in and hopped back with my remaining leg. I jumped backwards to start the ride.

Forwards... and back. Over and over again, the swing toggled between kinetic and potential energy. It felt exhilarating. I do love swings.

Approximately four minutes after, I heard the voices of children approaching. I did nothing until I saw them. I wasn’t embarrassed to be seen in the baby swing. Everyone should know it’s the one that works better. I was, however, at unease because, simply, there were children. I wanted to leave and so I did.

If a child ever reads this journal entry, kudos to you for being able to read. 3nodding Do not take offense that I harbour a hatred for the younglings of our species.

I got my stuff from the slide and went back to trudging down the sidewalk home. I shouldn’t say trudging, though. I enjoyed the walk before and after my time on the swing. The frosty air seeped into my pockets and teased my nerves. I talked to it, telling it how much I appreciated its company.

I nearly got ran over, too. I was met with a crosswalk sign that evidently showed the pedestrian symbol. I was still a few meters away from the road I was to cross, so I made a break for it. As I was dashing to the other side, a red truck sped from my right to my left. I took note of the sound before the sight and stopped less than two feet away. No horns were honked and no screams were released. I was safe. Or rather, the truck was safe. I would’ve bashed that thing in the side had it laid a finger (a metaphorical car finger, of course) on this body. I am only borrowing this human vessel, after all.

It was almost a perfect dodge, almost leaving behind no harm at all. Almost, I say, because I felt the horrified stare of the driver in a car close by. It was a car that stopped for the crosswalk light, so kudos to you-dos, law-abiding driver! If you ever read this, do know that everything’s fine in both our lives.

Anyway, midnight passed a short while ago. This entry’s yesterday is in fact yesterday’s yesterday. I’ll be going now. I have a long day ahead of me. I’ll write again whenever I find enough time. Until then, have a try at guessing the title and artist of the song in which these lyrics are taken from:
Somethin' in the wind has learned my name
And it's tellin' me that things are not the same
In the leaves on the trees and the touch of the breeze
There's a pleasin' sense of happiness for me

This one is probably among the easier song excerpts I’ve uploaded. Nonetheless, if you have a guess, comment below and a reward shall be granted! Best of luck, goodnight if it’s night, and see you around next entry! Thanks for reading and, uh, be happy. yum_puddi