The next year, I had first grade, where my best friend became my worst bully, and where I got in trouble for throwing a rock up some strange and purposeless thing with a friend. My teacher was more or less unaware of most things going on for the most part. That grade was also when I threw up on my way to class, the breakfast they served that day being nasty.
When I did get back to schooling at fifth grade, I was a real good reader, socially awkward, and TERRIBLE at math. I didn't know how to do long division until 6th grade, and I still to this day cannot multiply decimals.
Any-whale, since I was 8, I was one to always write stories and draw mini comics. Throughout my life, I have gone through many career choices in my head, but it wasn't until a few years ago that I wanted to become a writer. I have read a lot of great books in my life, and I wanted to create my own stories with my own made up characters.
Well, I am a level higher in math than expected, and my urge to write has been slowly diminishing due to growing distraction and aggravation.
But luckily, I still have years to go with my education.