I'm almost done with the plethora of homeworks for the thirteen days of school suspension, many thanks to Swine Flu. (Almost being approximately 65%, which mathematically isn't nearly enough to be considered almost, but still.) I'm doing everything from Algebra to Punctuation Marks with half a brain and truth be told, I'm not learning as much as the teachers would require but I'm rushing all of this for good reason. If I do it in this pace, I would have more time in the remaining days to look over what I could be misreading now. It doesn't make sense, I'm aware, but that's me and I trust me well enough to keep these habits.
And that would give me time to help others as well. I'm not volunteering myself to feed my quasi-friends with things I know they could figure out by themselves if they want to (which they don't) but it's not like I have other harmless options. It irks me to see my name in their chat windows because it means only three believably awful things. 1.) They need help from yours truly, and 2.) they'll close the chat window exactly after they get the answer because 3.) I'm more of a supplementary student-teacher than somebody worth talking to even if they spend a significant amount of their time sitting and dancing in the ledge beside my seat.
I got myself into this cancer of being there for them in Mathematics and in Health (get it, no?) but I'm regretting it now. I wouldn't normally complain about helping other people because it feels glorious to be of help but it sucks when they become too reliant it becomes a lose-lose situation. Maybe this is the point when I declare to nobody in particular that I hate all these people I got myself subconsciously glued to. I swear to God, I just want to get to college and get a real life without having all of these people anchoring me.
Now what does that say about my youth? Or, for God's sake, my quasi-friends? You can go ahead and judge me for disclosing yet another another subdued emotion. I don't like the state I'm in anyway. You wouldn't, either, if some black magic happened and you became me. (Much to your horror, I bet.) There are just too many things that need corrections and sometimes I wonder if they're there to be corrected or to just be endured. Like bad friends, for the lack of an appropriate adjective. I don't know.
And I don't know what I'm talking about anymore either. I think I'm getting infected with the Larry Doyle Syndrome. Funny male author, he is. Har-har. By the way, in the conclusion of the semi-apocalyptic day that was the 23rd of June, I clearly remember a sentence our Algebra teacher left us with while our heads madly spun around the prospect of being in a Gehenna of homeworks for nearly two weeks. She said, "Do not live like Dracula." Now wasn't that just meaningful? I have a reason for ending this post and it's called sleep.
(I hope you forget ever reading this post because it looks like this would add to my approximately infinite list of regrets.)
And that would give me time to help others as well. I'm not volunteering myself to feed my quasi-friends with things I know they could figure out by themselves if they want to (which they don't) but it's not like I have other harmless options. It irks me to see my name in their chat windows because it means only three believably awful things. 1.) They need help from yours truly, and 2.) they'll close the chat window exactly after they get the answer because 3.) I'm more of a supplementary student-teacher than somebody worth talking to even if they spend a significant amount of their time sitting and dancing in the ledge beside my seat.
I got myself into this cancer of being there for them in Mathematics and in Health (get it, no?) but I'm regretting it now. I wouldn't normally complain about helping other people because it feels glorious to be of help but it sucks when they become too reliant it becomes a lose-lose situation. Maybe this is the point when I declare to nobody in particular that I hate all these people I got myself subconsciously glued to. I swear to God, I just want to get to college and get a real life without having all of these people anchoring me.
Now what does that say about my youth? Or, for God's sake, my quasi-friends? You can go ahead and judge me for disclosing yet another another subdued emotion. I don't like the state I'm in anyway. You wouldn't, either, if some black magic happened and you became me. (Much to your horror, I bet.) There are just too many things that need corrections and sometimes I wonder if they're there to be corrected or to just be endured. Like bad friends, for the lack of an appropriate adjective. I don't know.
And I don't know what I'm talking about anymore either. I think I'm getting infected with the Larry Doyle Syndrome. Funny male author, he is. Har-har. By the way, in the conclusion of the semi-apocalyptic day that was the 23rd of June, I clearly remember a sentence our Algebra teacher left us with while our heads madly spun around the prospect of being in a Gehenna of homeworks for nearly two weeks. She said, "Do not live like Dracula." Now wasn't that just meaningful? I have a reason for ending this post and it's called sleep.
(I hope you forget ever reading this post because it looks like this would add to my approximately infinite list of regrets.)
