Change.

Regardless of how much effort I put into maintaining this blog, this month seems to prevent me from doing so. I've managed to pry a few precious moments from the taloned clutches of May, however, so I'll use those to the best of my ability.

Today marks the final week of my days as a high schooler. Graduation is, all at once, hitting me. Hitting me like a very, very forceful slap across my naive face. Suddenly, I'm realizing that it's not just another bland award ceremony. It's not just another unrealistically embellished school event.

It's the commencement of another phase of my life.

Upon discovering the seriousness of this day, I am, once again, questioning my readiness. I don't feel any different than I did last year, and I doubt moving a silky tassle from one side of my head to the other will change that. Being a senior hasn't granted me some philisophical epiphany into my future, nor has it granted me any vast knowledge or maturity. It was just another year.

This week is no different. It's simply another seven days that happen to fall at the end of my final semester of high school.

But something is different.

Something has changed, and is changing, inside me. Almost as if God is showing me who I am, and who He wants me to be outside the walls of that high school.

For the past few months, doors have opened left and right. Too many doors, in my opinion. I'm being forced to make monumental decisions in moments when I feel like I need years. I'm planning out each day as if it were worlds more important than the last. I'm having to put more faith in God than I have ever felt compelled to.

Things are different, things are changing, and I only hope I can keep up.

Oh, Washington.

A couple days ago, I recieved a letter from the Tennessee state represenative, John J. Duncan.

After finding out who he was and why I should give a crap about his letter, I actually sat down and considered what he wrote to me. Truthfully, I think he wrote it because someone forced him to. Why else would someone who holds a seat in the House of Representatives write me? Shouldn't he be playing golf or wooing his secretary or something?

Regardless of his true reasoning however, I reserve the right to deduct whatever I want from it. Here's what it said:

Dear David:

I was pleased to learn that you have been recognized as a News-Sentinel Academic Achiever.

(Oh, I'm sure you were, and how many names have you typed into that blank, Johnny?)

I am a big sports fan, but I also have long felt that we do not give enough recognition to those who do well in their studies as opposed to those who do well in athletics.

(I actually laughed aloud at this. Basically, he needed to find something nice to say while informing all the recipients of this letter that we're just a bunch of nerds.)

It is always pleasant to see a person recognized for scholastic ability and hard work. I am sure you have spent many long hours studying to attain this honor.

(You swear this was like my life goal. I didn't know it even existed until today.)

Congratulations on this accomplishment, and best wishes for every success in the future. If I may be of assistance to you in any way, please do not hesitate to let me know.

(Assistance, huh? A couple hundred thousand bucks couldn't hurt...)

With kindest regards, I am

Yours truly,

*FANCY ILLEGIBLE SIGNATURE*

John J. Duncan, Jr.
Member of Congress

(Love you too, man.)

Yes, I know. I know. I'm horribly cynical.

But can you blame me? Afterall, I am dealing with a politician.

Character.

I recently discovered this entertaining (and hysterical) game called, "Who am I?" It's the same premise as 20 questions, but with a twist. Each person writes the name of a cartoon character on a piece of paper and tapes it to someone else's head. Then, everyone takes turns asking yes or no questions and trying to guess who they are.

Today, my family decided we were going to try the game using Disney characters. Shocking, right? My dad got "Captain Barbosa" from the Pirates of the Carribean series. This is how it went down...

Dad:  Am I a male?

Mom:  Yes.

Dad:  Am I a main character?

Mom:  Eh. Not really.

Dad:  Hmmm...am I important in the film?

Mom:  Yeah, pretty important.

Dad:  Am I Mrs. Potts?

Mom:  Um...no, you're a guy. Remember?

Dad:  Well, I know, but have you SEEN Mrs. Potts? She's pretty manly.

This is why our family doesn't play games.