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I remember making a journal entry some time back comparing the change from middle school to high school to passing through a white picket gate into a different garden with the wrought iron gates of the rest of our lives seen in the distance. I can't find the entry now but I remember making it. Now in my life I'm passing from the garden of one high school to a strange one, still this side of the iron gate. I don't really want to leave this school. It hurts more than middle school. It's on block scheduling so the goodbyes are drawn out. Next week is going to be horrible. I can't believe my friends want to skip the last half day. Why not come? It's not like we're going to be doing anything, anyway. What will they be doing if they don't come? They have nothing to lose. They just don't seem to realize how little time they get in these halls. They aren't feeling the pain of last goodbyes, yet. If only they could see and appreciate all that they have. Maybe then they wouldn't be so eager to waste the time they get here. I only hope they'll appreciate the way I feel someday. In the meantime, I'm going to try to talk them into being there for my last day, at least.