Clio’s Histories: I’m Back!

Alice Knowlton, Writer

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I am Clio Ariadne Thomas, and I have returned.

 

Assuming that by some miracle you are a student at this school and you are reading this piece, you’ve still probably never before encountered my regular rants that have been published in every issue of Unleashed for the past two years. Because my faithful readership is likely limited to my cats and my pig, I suppose I ought to introduce myself to anyone who might have stumbled across this periodical by accident.

 

My name has previously been stated if you were paying attention. My age is 16. I lurk hidden amongst the junior class. My hobbies include espionage and satire. I eat a lot, argue a lot, and never apologize. At least not sincerely. I’m trying this new thing where I use lots of short, dramatic sentences to make myself sound badass.

 

You know, I think that in a way I never really expected to be back here for junior year. Ever since I found out that we’re only legally required to go to school until the age of 16, on some level I always assumed I’d quit after sophomore year to embark on the adventures that we all expect to get out of adult life. And yet, a new year begins and here I am once again. From day one, junior year has felt different than all previous high school years. Maybe it’s the feeling of power and domination that comes with being an upperclassman. Perhaps it’s some fearful miasma present in the disaster zones of the hub that has mutated my class into entirely different beings than our sophomore selves. Or I could just be so relieved not to be taking chem that I don’t know what to do with myself. Everyone told me that junior year was hell on a triscuit, and that assuming I managed to survive I would emerge a nervous wreck, embittered and cynical about every aspect of life and especially college. As it happens, I’ve always been embittered and cynical about all aspects of life and especially college, so I figured it wouldn’t be much of a change, but that didn’t stop me from taking the easiest classes I could in anticipation of the coming storm.

 

Because I’m taking the easiest classes I can, said coming storm has yet to arrive. It’s almost boring how reasonable my workload is. I expect that like a high school romance, the stress of latter high school will show up senior year, take up way too much of my time, and cease to matter as soon as I graduate. Assuming I decide to care about them, these next two years of high school could become quite a challenge. Eventually I’ll have to start saying the word “college” out loud, something which as a matter of principle I have never done. I just know I’ll hate it. However, as long as I have things to complain about or amusing anecdotes to tell at my own expense, my voice can continue to be a largely ignored force of snark in all of your mundane lives. Let us rejoice.

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