I am totally and utterly over high school after our very tearful and prolonged break up. Signified by the dispatch of high schools final hold over us. ENTER SCORES.

No connections, ties or strings attached. Some might suggest that we who have graduated are akin to ex-prisoners finally liberated from their cells, able to roam the streets without schedule or constant and demeaning surveillance and dictation.

But nah, I loved you high school and you know it. I'll always carry a torch for you.

So currently, the very kosher and trendy thing to do is to say that your final VCE (high school) result is "just a number" and "can't dictate the rest of your life". And well yes, it is only a number I suppose, but (to be very politically incorrect) I love my number and I would be happy for it to [partially] dictate the rest of my life. It would be a sweet life where good prevails over bad and hard work is rewarded with apt glory and veneration from others.

Okay so maybe thats selfish for me to 'impose' an omnipotence to the individual rankings delegated to us by the ever mysterious VCAA, but to be fair, everybody knows that your enter kind of defines you, indefinitely.

On the same token and to be very, very frank, this same day of elation for me turned out to be really shit for heaps of peeps. For a very clear example of double standards, (but maybe we can let this one slide of compassionate terms) can we say that if your not happy, your number can be the moment of epiphany and sublime realisation that we all long for, which motivates change in your life, and then you become the loveable underdog that prevails?

And someone makes a movie about it eventually.

Well, according to VCAA, the number I have been given and the superiority that comes with it, yeah we can.

And to sustain those who are in the mind space that your number is a reflection of our intellect, my moments of enlightenment had no-thang to do with study, or academic ability. I now know that it is a bad idea to wear a sundress and sandals while go-karting, even if you think your boyfriend will think you look super cute in it, because you will end up flashing the staff and wearing some random persons skating shoes with hairnets as socks. Especially sexy coupled with the pathetic and helpless "damsel in distress" persona you achieve by constantly spinning out and getting stuck.

I mean, I would totally look less ditzy in jeans and sneakers. Lets not deny it.