The next day at school was greatly the same as the ones that preceded it. I sat in my tiny desk, intently listening to Mrs. Hoover despite every fiber of my being opposing this function. I did my work quickly and efficaciously; I completed with success before most of the other students had begun writing the date on their papers. And then I was left to think. This was my favorite time of the school day, the time in each class when I was done with my work and could have the rest of the period to dream, create, and imagine.
It was not that I didnt enjoy learning. It was definitely not that at all. Learning was my deepest pleasure. It was that the fact that I wasnt learning, or at least not as much as I should have been. Occasionally, we would study a branch of science that was foreign to me or a war of which I did not confidently know the details. However, this was the exception, and most days I spent taking unnecessarily precious heed to material I already knew.