Old School

There is no way to fully discribe the differences between my school in Belgium.  It is so different from America that, on the first day, I felt like giving up and going home--not because I didn't like it, but because it was just so strange.  For starters, everyone writes in cursive.  And not the bad, swiggly nonesence that you learn in fourth grade.  It's beautiful, and everyone uses fountain pens.  It makes math notes seem like wedding invitations, and I feel more awkward because my appalling script than anything else.

But, so far, so good.  Everyone seems nice, and I already have friends who invited me out Friday night.  I got a bunch of complements on my clothes (thank you, Francesca's Collections) and the headmistress told me to just go to whatever classes I want until they finish a schedule for me.  Today, the second day, I went to English.  It was the only class where I understood most of what was going on, and I totally kicked ass on the excersizes. 

But, seriously, this is the hardest I've ever worked in my life.  Granted, this is coming from someone who never actually worked hard at anything before, but it's very difficult.  I come home from school exusted and starving, and I sleep deep and usually dreamless sleeps (though, last night, I dreamt that my best friend Carly, my best/only guy friend, and my dungeon master were trying to figure out how to get rid of the disgusting lunches at the school I attended until 6th grade). 

I'm starting to really miss my friends.  I want to tell them all sorts of stories about all my observations, but I know, if I do, it will just be harder on me later.  Besides, I need to make new friends.  Belgium now, Iowa later.

Still getting the hang of kissing people on the cheek when I say hello and good-bye.  It's so weird.

Peace,

Greta