I’ve spent way too much time recently on the receiving end of the doctor-patient relationship.
Ive come to terms with the fact that I cant handle scary movies. Its sad I know. I thought I could handle them until I watched The Grudge at a movie night a few weeks back, and ended up waking up my mommy at 3 a.m. because I was convinced there was a face-eating devil child in my closet.
When I applied to be a part of our school newspaper, The Blazer, I expected to work. I expected long hours and frustrations. I expected awkward interviews and fast-approaching deadlines. What I didn’t expect was how much I would grow to love the people I spent sixth period with everyday.
I’m about to admit something that will shock and amaze all teenagers, twenty-somethings, middle-aged mamas, granddads and paranoid police officers alike: I do not like to drive. In fact, I hate it. Weird, right? Freedom, speed, looking awesome (in my little yellow slug bug), what’s not to like? I’ll tell you ye of the iron foot – minivans.