My last day of high school was yesterday, when I took my physics final.
Physics was interesting. My lab partners were Andy, a 25-year-old sarcastic geek with a bit of a stutter, and Parul, a hyperactive 16-year-old girl from India. She drew henna on my hand earlier this week, when she was bored during class. In order to keep it from looking like notes, I had to quickly lick it off five minutes before my final.
But I digress. My topic today is the Pencil of Life.
During the first few weeks of class, I found a pencil outside of the physics building. It had been stepped on numerous times, and maybe driven over once or twice, but I picked it up and carried it into class with me. I was able to nurse it back to health with the help of a pencil sharpener. The pencil lead hadn't been split, so it worked pretty well, and there was even a bit of eraser on it.
Over the course of the class course (I would have called it the classy course of the class course, but it wasn't.), I used my new chewed-up pencil as often as possible, making it my good luck charm. By the time the finals troundled around, it had shrunk to half its height. Parul decided to sharpen all the pencils on the table, whether they needed it or not (hyperactive, remember?) and thereby shortened it even more. My hand was a little cramped from using a three-inch pencil by the time I was done.
Finished with my quarter, I decided to ceremoniously return the magical pencil to its spot outside the physics building. I'd like to think that it will inspire a physics student next quarter, binding us together in our pencil commonality as said student completes his or her course aided by it's magical powers. However, it's much more likely that the pencil was thrown away the next day together with all the other useless litter on campus.
But that's life.
Uprooting - If, fair reader, you happen upon this, you may learn to find me here. https://ladyjwhimsy.wordpress.com/
3 years ago