Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I remarked to Genuine. that I missed high school - not the institution itself, or the classes, or the people, but the idea of it. That's strange, since I loathed my last year of high school, since I'd been uprooted and transplanted in Oregon for just one year. It wasn't pleasant. I just had a memory of listening to Sarah Slean, playing Mancala, and watching the rain hit my window and feeling terribly melancholy.
Anyhow, I certainly don't miss it after the dream I just had.
In the dream, I was coming back to high school after being absent for a month or so. All of my classmates knew I had been absent (I was at some other school, or something, for the month), but they couldn't understand that I didn't remember where any of my classes were, or even who taught them. I kept telling them I didn't know where I was going, but I lost them in the halls, and couldn't find my math class. I knew it was taught by a Mr. Armstrong, but I wasn't entirely certain on the name. The building was gigantic - sort of like an airport, but if it were done with the floors in tile and with classrooms everywhere instead of terminals and gates. I wandered around what I thought was the math wing but couldn't find my teacher, which made me angry and frustrated, because I knew if I showed up late, he would make me read from the packet even though I didn't have one. I just kept looking and looking and couldn't find the room and saw some punk kid loft his boom box into a different class and it was so frustrating. I tend to get lost a lot in my dreams.
Anyway, I never found the math class. I don't really miss high school anymore.