Time Draws Short

I can now count the days I have left in my school on 2 hands. I am counting the hours and the minutes till the final bell. I am planning an end of school prank that will be suitable as ‘something to remember me by’, but not too extreme to get me expelled. I have my cycle helmet to stop me getting attacked by eggs by the nasty boy’s school who think it very mature to flour or egg as many girls as possible.

I look around the school I’ve been a part of for 12 years now and realise how much it’s changed. Aside from a spangly new building complete with varying degrees of technological advancement, the staff that first taught me have retired or moved on. Many of the pupils who hold memories of good times have also left their educational careers behind them. They don’t even have a school tuck shop any more.

I will not cry on my last day, the school has had too many of my tears over the years. I don’t really wish to leave with my boats burning behind me. As strange as it feels to say, never seeing all the people who have filled my days, at least between 8.50am and 3.30, again is a little daunting.

I know I’ll find myself wondering at some stage were they are and what they are doing. I’m nosey like that.

So much of the last few weeks of school is filled with such sentimental mush. Someone who has perhaps only spoken to me a few times in the last 7 years has no need to tell me how much they’ll miss me. I will miss people in varying degrees, and I hope those that I would miss will have the sense to keep in touch. It would even be a lie to pretend that I wish everyone in my year well.

“I probably won’t miss you that much. In fact, I don’t know you that well, but I’ve heard plenty of rumours about you. I don’t know what you plan to do with yourself next year, and to be honest I don’t care that much. Goodbye”