I hate school. I'm so tired of making flash cards, which seems to be the only way I retain information. My wrists are cramped. I've killed a forest with the amount of index cards I've used. And I cut them in half so I get two flash cards for every one index card I use. And I have to write tiny all the time. And YouTube and their science videos get me through the worst moments because I have THE WORST Biology teacher ever.
He's mean and incomprehensible. He obviously hates American students and when you ask him to clarify something or need more info so you can understand what he's talking about he belittles you, makes fun of you, tells you that you must have eaten too many carbohydrates and now you are sleeping in his class because "Did I not just say that, no?"
He hit me with chalk the other day because he was trying to hit a guy who fell asleep behind me. It was mortifying:
1. Because it ricocheted off of the ceiling so it hit me harder than if he had just missed. And a pellet of chalk off the ceiling, off the knuckle, to the face does not make you react gracefully.
2. It was traumatizing because it brought all this back: in elementary school we use to have 'Sports Night' (equally traumatizing for fat kids) where the different classes of each grade would compete in drills and random sport-centric activities in front of friends and families for points. These points were tallied and the classes would get ribbons that everyone who won first place would totally display on their JanSports for the rest of the year. (This is well before the time of "everybody gets a trophy!")
Anyway, the point is Mr. Gaynord was in charge of the 'training' even though he wasn't the gym teacher and one time he was teaching us a dribbling competition and he said "Whatever you do, don't pass the basketball to the next person like this." And then he did it. It hit me in the face, teeth bleeding, glasses flying, DEATH OF MINUSCULE CONFIDENCE OCCURRED. And then he said "That's why."
Twenty-one years later and clearly the damage to my deep, psychological structure is still there.
(Who got a 90 on their first Psychology test, this girl!)
I hate English simply because I've done really well on my first 2 papers (3rd one still being graded) but I feel like I've done too well that when I bomb my term paper (I will bomb my term paper because I'm overwhelmed) I will be sorely disappointed in my low grade.
And now a random thought:
Today I lit a giant stick of incense with the stove top burner. About twenty minutes later I went to get a drink and smelled gas and realized I had left the burner on. I announced to Mark that I fear we are going to be that old couple that dies horribly in some strange household accident, except we won't make it to 'old' and it will be all my fault.
In addition, whenever I stare at the trail and tiny piles of incense ash I am always reminded of Pompeii and those bodies they found preserved in ash. Creepy.
