Maybe I Am a Robot

I always post on Sundays. It's not because I'm trying to procrastinate, of course, but every Sunday night as I'm getting into bed, the thought of my blog and my grade and my unwritten post is always lingering in my mind.

So, here I am. Better late than never, right?

I have a routine. Like it or not, Sunday night posts have become part of my routine.

I've been alive for 6,221 days.
149,304 hours.
8,598,240 minutes.
537,494,400 seconds.

And almost every single one of those days, at least recently, is the same.

I wake up at the same time. I get ready, not sure who I'm trying to impress. (Everybody, nobody, myself). And I go to school, and I waste away seven hours of my life memorizing formulas and writing research papers that will never benefit me in the future. After school, I usually go to work, where I waste away another eight hours, just pretending that I know what I'm doing. If I'm not at work, I'm at home, attempting my homework and again, pretending that I know what I'm doing. (I don't).

Doesn't that sound like a robot to you?

What if I don't want to be like that?

What if I want to be spontaneous?

High school doesn't like spontaneity. High school likes rules and disclosures and Scantron tests with number two pencils.

But, me? I like surprises. I like sneaking out and going on adventures and making my life just a little bit more exciting.

(I really hope I won't be a robot forever).