See no Weevil, Hear no Weevil, Speak no Weevil

'Tis a sad day for greenery, specifically mine. I can still remember upon entrance into the first grade I was gifted with a spruce sprout no bigger than my thumb. Today, twelve years later, it has shooted up to a whopping five feet. Unfortunately, tragedy has struck. The tall, prickly branches have curled into so many grasping fingers due to a devilish creature that has decided to take up residence within. Foul, depraved, weevil! Now, dear readers, as you can probably guess from my previous post, I'm not a true-blue insect-hater. I have nothing personal against weevils in general. They are God's creations just like any other animal, they have to make a living and eat and reproduce like any other insect. It's just that weevils should know better than to feast on trees with sentimental value, when they are surrounded by other green buffets that are decidedly less loved by me, like my mother's cedars. They will probably have to lop off the top of my precious sapling in order to save it....Be brave, Spruce!
In other news... I discovered, upon returning to school to attend review sessions for the upcoming diplomas, that a rather large number of my favourite teachers have all decided to jump ship, and I feel absurdly grateful that I will no longer be around to face the inferior replacements the widely disliked principal (who shall remain nameless, because as bland as he is, I'm quite certain he is able to use Google) will undoubtedly hire to fill their slots. These teachers were excellent, so they shall not remain anonymous....Mr. Dvorak, my 12th grade English teacher (so of COURSE, he is well-liked by me), my 9th grade English teacher Mme O'Brien, Mme Clark (a shiny, new teacher fresh out of University when she taught me grade 9 science. It's a very educational experience to "break in" a new teacher, and I'm glad I had the opportunity), and Mr.Denis, the balding, short, well-aged religious center for our school. He taught my mother when she went to my high school, if that's any indication of the enormous span of years he's dedicated to teaching. Now, the only teacher worth gossiping about will be poor, lonely, math/drama teacher Mr. Shields, whose unkempt blond hair and hooded blue eyes continually display the perpetual stress he claims to be under, when it is perfectly obvious that he loves his job. (The local urban myth that he disciplines his rowdier pupils by launching desks at them has been only half-heartedly disputed by him, and I believe he's secretly pleased that his students believe he's strong enough to throw one of those heavy, cumbersome pieces of furniture far enough to do any real harm. I'm not saying he's weak, mind you, I'm saying our desks our heavy, because our school is cheap. Really, really cheap.)