How on earth did I end up here?

First off, let me be clear. It’s not like I’m flunking school or anything. I mean, I haven’t failed to maintain a steady stream of Cs since I made the rather unfortunate move to this high-octane, brainiac factory known as a "smart school" three years ago.

I moved here when I was fourteen, thinking I was a decently smart kid. You know, I read books without pictures, I did the crossword puzzles in the Sunday paper, and I could even multiply 7x8 without blinking. Yeah, I was confident. But then I stepped into the halls of this high school, and my world was rocked. Not in a cool, punk rock kind of way, but more like a seismic earthquake type of shake up.

You're probably wondering, "how did she even get into that school?" Well, I have a secret weapon: English. I can string words together, flip them around, make them sing, and dance. I got in because of that and by boasting about my indie game translation work. Now, I should probably clarify that my translations were mostly on Roblox games, but hey, the application didn't need to know that.

Here's another fun fact: I've got a wealth of knowledge about niche aesthetics. I can differentiate between Vaporwave, Cottagecore, Dark Academia, and Soft Grunge faster than most people can solve a quadratic equation. I can even curate a playlist for each aesthetic. But guess what? There's no "Identify this aesthetic" test or a "Create the perfect downtown stargirl 90s chaotic academia playlist" assignment. It seems my ability to identify the nuances of Shoegaze versus Dream Pop doesn't mean anything in this algebra-infested terrain.

You might be thinking, "Come on, it can't be that bad." Well, buckle up buttercup, because it's time to spill the academic tea. I have learned to perfectly blend the phrases, "Interesting point" and "I hadn't thought about it that way," into any conversation, just to feign intellect. Here's a scene from an average day in my life. I'm sitting in class, my brain cells crying out for mercy as the teacher fires off faster than my Twitter feed updates. To my left, Mr. Heartbreaker, with all his glorious devil-may-care attitude, jots down notes faster than his flirty texts. At this point, I'm debating whether it's the math or his smug smirk that's giving me a headache.

And my grades? I've been pulling in solid Cs while everyone else seems to be competing for the Valedictorian of the Universe title. In my old school, a C was seen as pretty okay; here, they look at you like you've suggested we start measuring time in potato units. I mean, I winged everything in my life up until now - I never prepared for an exam for more than 3 hours at a time so I never really learned how to study (thanks to my skills of scattering notes to bullshit my essays) in my old school.

And while the Instagrammers and the fuckboys find a way to balance their chaos with commendable grades, here I am, barely keeping my head above the 'see' level. Yes, that was a pun. And no, I won't apologize.

And before you ask, no, it's not about being jealous of their success. It's the astonishing ease with which they achieve it. It's like they've got a cheat code to the education system, while I'm stuck buffering like a 2006 YouTube video on a dial-up connection. I don't want to sound like a resentful, sour grape. I mean, I am, but I don't want to sound like one. But seriously, can someone please explain how they do it?

To top it off, my procrastination game has reached legendary status. I could write an epic video essay about the countless hours spent contemplating the existential implications of SpongeBob SquarePants instead of studying for my midterms. I've been told that genius often emerges in times of great pressure. Well, I've become an expert at creating that pressure. I'm just still waiting for the genius part to kick in.

So, this is my life. But you know what? I'm hanging in there. Because one day, I might write a best-selling novel or start a popular podcast about surviving a smart school. And those Cs and all these brainiacs around me will be the fuel to my fire. (I totally sound like Greg Heffley, I know, I know..)

But, I mean, isn't life just a long string of improvised bullshit anyway? We’re all just figuring it out as we go along, aren't we? So here's to us, the doodlers, the storytellers, the C-grade warriors. Here's to the late-night artists, the lovers of good music. Because the world doesn't just need geniuses, it needs us too. We may not top the class, but we sure as heck make the ride interesting. And if anyone tells you otherwise, remember: they probably never experienced the sheer thrill of bullshitting their way through an exam, and that's their loss.

Thanks for reading this long-ass rant, Signing off!