Sarah attempts to sit back and relax as fear mercilessly devours her entrails

This is a Big. Fucking. Week. I could not be any more afraid. Why?

1. I'm supposed to find out whether or not I get into my top college tomorrow. Through a letter. To say I'm on edge would be an understatement.
2. This is the last week of my semester and I'm scared shitless of my status in Calculus and, um, ART. Yes, you read correctly-- art, the class everyone is supposed to get an A in, regardless of perceived skill level. Shit, nobody has an A in that class.
3. FINALS. In the words of Rachel Zoe, I die. But not in a good way.

I know I'm supposed to be *so* fortunate to go to a Top 100 high school (which I am, don't get me wrong)-- it's just that it's kind of killing me. My friend's brother went to MIT and he said his freshman year there was easier than his senior year at MY school; how on earth so many people in my school manage to churn out 4.0's year after year beats me.
Also, I've told way too many people where I'm applying, because what else can I say? "I'm superstitious, so I'm not telling you"? I swear, if I have to tell one more person I barely know where I've applied or want to go, I will scream. (In private. Because I'm a lady.) Not only do I feel like I'm disclosing seriously intimate details to strangers-- it also makes me feel like if I don't get in, everyone will know. EVERYONE, which is a big deal, considering I've already had to deal with "so and so got into Cornell" and "so and so got into Georgetown" for a whole week as my aching brain loops "Shutupshutupshutupshutup" like a broken record.

I can't stand those judging eyes. They burn.

For the past few days, I decided that a superpower I might want is to be able to turn into a bouncy ball every time I go into fetal position. Balls don't have to eat, sleep, breathe, work for a living... they're just bounced daily by adorable children. That's a fun existence in my book.

Update: The Slow Death of Sarah's Soul

Hey, kids! Guess what time of year it is up here in public-school land! That's right, it's Suicide Prevention Week!

And you know, it's ironic that I go to a Top 100 school, yet they were dumb enough to give seniors their class rank during this very week. I'm trying hard to imagine how the kid who got 289/289 feels when he sees all those "Choose Life!" posters (that are followed by ones reading "Choose Family!", then "Career" and "a Fucking Big Television"... I'll let Valentina finish that off). I don't think he or she will feel so accustomed to do so.

The juxtaposition of these two events makes me angry. I'm convinced they've done this on purpose. Something about it feels so menacing, so taunting. It almost feels as if the posters exist to give all the insecure students the following feeling: "What's worse than how you feel right now? Well, you could be dead." Great.

But what's the use? At this rate, they can't prevent it. All this stress and contortion inside my body may kill me before I get the chance to graduate. My body killing me? I call that suicide. And at a school like mine, everyone else is killing themselves too. Good going, Suicide Prevention campaign. It's not our fault that school is breaking us down.

If you can't guess, senior year is making me goth or something. I should just go buy some black paint for my walls and blast some Bauhaus. It'd be better than listening to as much pop as I do. After all, it took me a while to figure out that neither Kokomo nor La Isla Bonita are real (...yet. My faith in humanity remains).

I guess I'm just trying to say that I find so much error in class rank. It is yet another excuse for growing individuals to be evaluated through comparing them to their peers.

In other words, high school sucks.