Yes, I know it's been ages since I last wrote. I'm sorry. it's just that there never seems to be anything to write about anymore. I would really rather not write about war and suffering; there's enough of it in the world already, and I have written enough about it. And I don't think my daily life is exactly very interesting either. It's all very mundane, really. Like a black and white photo; it's almost exactly the same everyday. Doesn't change, probably never will.

Unless, of course, the school burns down, which I hope never happens.

Everything is awfully monotonous. Wake up, go to school, study, go to class, study, don't eat at break, hardly eat at recess, run errands for various teachers, run, look for people, complain recess is never long enough (too many things to do!!), study, go home, study, eat dinner, play Antonio (my violin), sleep. repeat.

That's basically my day, all week long. Not very interesting, is it? Sometimes, I wonder why we have to learn all these things, when we probably won't remember half of it when we finally start working. I wonder why we have so many projects, and wonder, quite frequently, if the teachers have finally gone mad.

The rate of absenteeism in my level is at an all time high, and it's been barely three weeks since we returned from the holidays, supposedly refreshed, supposedly alive and kicking, supposedly ready to run again.

Occasionally, I suspect that the teachers at part of a conspiracy or experiment, to see how far we can be stretched before we lose our grip on the bar and fall into the churning whirlpool below, arms flailing as we fall.

But enough about that.

There is really nothing to say, except sorry, perhaps. Sorry that school has eaten up all my time, sorry that I don't have anything of worth to say, and sorry that all I do is keep my head buried in my textbook.

What a sad state of affairs.

We're all just a black and white photograph; we never move anywhere, just do the same,

old,

thing.

Where did the colour photographs run off to?

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