For Whom the Bell Tolls
Monday morning, 6am, and there’s a ringing in my ears. I’m pretty sure I must’ve moaned pretty loudly and unpleasantly at that point. After reluctantly crawling out of the bed, I groomed myself and put on my uniform. Ready to go, I hit the road and spent the next 30 minutes fighting morning rush hour.
My homeroom class is the furthest building from the parking lot, so that was a nice little walk. Once arriving into the building, I was greeted by a few “good mornings” and countless confused stares.
“Are you new here,” asked several uniformed girls.
“Yes, I’m Chelsea, what are y’alls’ names?”
That’s pretty much how my day went. There are seven classes in my schedule, not including the tri-weekly chapel services and midday lunch period. I never know what time it is that I’m supposed to be somewhere. It’s not “what’s your 9:30 class?” … it’s “who do you have for 2nd period?” My life has ceased to be ruled by the natural clock and commenced revolution around the lovely thing we call the bell. The bell rings all the time. It signals everything and anything, and teachers kinda flinch when it rings mid-sentence. I always get a chuckle out of that. Seriously though, this thing RINGS. All I need to do is figure out what note that bell is, and by the end of the year, I’ll have perfect pitch.
More to come.
