"Je m'appelle Madison". The practiced phrase flows easily from English to French to my hand and on to the paper. I glance at the clock, which has only moved a few minutes, of course. 30 minutes left. I'm tired. Somehow French class always seems to do that to you. I want nothing more than to lay my head on the desk, even if with my eyes open and still paying attention, but that would be far too rude. Emma has her head on the desk. I'd once told her that teachers didn't like it when you did that, because it was a show of disrespect and she seemed to get it then but she must have forgotten. Or she just doesn't care. I'm beginning to not care either, as my mind drifts ever so stightly to the idea of letting my neck have rest from the dreary task of sitting upright and looking alert. It's not as if French class is boring. I have a great teacher who makes the lessons interesting but something about that room just calls me to sleep. It's the same with the math room. Which I have in 2 periods, I remind myself sourly. And it's not like I have a good class in beetween the two. P.E. was fun in elementry school, but this year my teacher has an annoying obsession with pushups and squats and spends every class correcting our form and then making us do what seems like hours of the torture. It's only 70 minutes, of course, but at normal schools classes are supposed to be 50. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to only have 50 minute periods. Class would be wrapping up around now, probably. But I'd have more classes a day. I sigh and continue on with my work, which is extremly meticulous. Instead of English where you can innateley tell whether or not a sentence is grammatically correct, in French you have to bring every grammar rule to the front of your mind and scan the page a million times and either way, it will be returned to you with red markings everywhere and notes you have to decipher from a mix of cursive and shorthand. This class will never end, will it?. Next she'll have us talk to our group mates about it, won't she, and we all know that none of us have the brain power to engage in respectful, on topic social interaction, much less about grammar rules and memorized nouns. But it happens anyways. And far too fast, becuase I'm not finished yet, my time used on my monologue of dread. I sigh and turn sideways to Chloe, resigned to my fate. 

I have no idea what in the world this is suppossed to be but I just went with it because I was wondering if I could make a normal moment in my life seem interesting. Well, I hoped I succeeded! Anyway have a nice day!