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So, I haven't been on much latley because of school.
It's the end of the semester and things have been kind of hectic, they are slowing down this week though.
Last week, I had an Environmental Assessment (took 8 hours of my Saturday from me...) tests and a whole bunch of other crap, I've been so busy lately I don't know what to do with myself. I have been working a lot of my Environmental Science final and I hope I finally finished it today. I keep having to add crap.
I also have been busy with like...everything. Small things, but a lot of them compiled together and besides Steven being around all the time. They also blocked Gaia at my school, so I can't get on during my math period anymore. D':
But that's okay, it's about time they did it.

I've been sick for almost two weeks know. And lately my ears have been plugged and it's almost like being deaf. My jaw hurts, as well. I don't know, maybe I should go to the doctors.
...
Anyway, I probably won't be on much this weekend either, I have an essay I want to write for this Oprah thing and an essay for the Holocaust crap. Plus, I think Mrs. Shelley has a poem contest she wants me to enter...
And right now, I have a poem I should be memorizing so I can get an 'A' in my ******** Speech class.

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn.
Grew lean as he assailed the seasons.
He wept that he was ever born
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old,
when swords were bright and steeds were prancing.
The vision of a warrior bold,
Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not.
And dreamed and rested from his labors.
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot.
And Priam's neighbor.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one.
He would have sinned incessantly,
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed he commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing
He missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Minver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it.
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought.
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.