Tonight I checked my e-mail and to my delight, pops has elicited a response to my Spring Break '08 e-mail. It sounds rather promising, but still comes back to those fucking grades. The man mentions he hasn't been "bowled over" with my recent study habits, but can appreciate the minimal "concern you've shown about your grades." I guess that's a start.
I shot him a response, and finished it off with a couple lines I was really proud of: "...And I truly feel like the reason you did it is because you are afraid to let me go. So that is the real reason why you won't let me go on a one-week journey to the beach. I've got news for you: I'm about to embark on a four-year journey to the beach. You have to let me go some time." Yeah, I know. Sweet.
Tomorrow we are maxing again in weightlifting, and I swear to god, if I don't improve on my max I will drop a deuce in the middle of the weightroom floor. I didn't even mention what that gigglypuff of a man, Coach Hill, told me yesterday. I had missed a couple weightlifting classes, and one has to turn in essays on random articles in order to make up for that, or else one gets deducted a letter grade for each class missed. I did that--but I hand-wrote the articles. "Son, they had to be typed. You knew that since the beginning of the year, c'mon now." Fuck him.
Tomorrow I am going to put up ridiculous amounts of weight and maybe he will be like "Wow Chad, you are a beast. You know what? Forget it, you get an A PLUS! Bye!"
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