(no subject)
Every morning is a silent battle on paper for me. I think it's funny that I'm contending for a life at an acceptable college while the rest of the world is sleeping. Save for about the four people I know with jobs. I wish those of you who have never experienced the horrors of summer school all could witness how mundain my life is from the hours of 6:40, my newly adjusted waking time, till 12:15. Sanity is fleeting. I feel like even eight more days of this will never come. Every minute is an hour. I have no chance of ever seeing home again, so make sure the cats are fed and that I have nothing incriminating left behind in my room. I at least want to go down seeming like a saint.
However, like every great struggle, at least a timeless story is left in it's wake. This, the struggle of a handful of incompetent adolescents with an obvious and clear math deficiency, is no exception. Well, save for the solitary fat kid who sits in the back who is trying to get ahead. We all don't like him much. But more specifically, this is the story of the seemingly-stoned all-of-the-time Tyler Thursby and his companions Blair, the popular girl from Corona who never quite made it in the field of math, and Elisa, pronounced 'Ah-liss-ah', who studied abroad for a year, because well... even though it's high school, for some reason she could, and did; but alas, her math credits are no good here in the States. Together we discuss the important key issues of the day over a stretch of five hours.
- "I don't understand this section."
- "I don't understand this section. God damn."
- "My friend who is 16 is dating a 20 year old. It's a little creepy."
- "They sure as hell like to make these rooms cold."
- "Can I copy your work?"
- "I need to see your take home test. NOW."
- "I don't understand this section."
Mark my words, though: I will pass this class.
And to all of you who think I'm talking too soon, I am. But I will get through this. Just wait and see.
It's such a shame I never have anything important to talk about other than what I did at school (math, math and math) and who I know there (no one). It's just nice to have Blair and Elisa along my side at my uncomfurtable science table. Blair was in my class last semester at Marcos. Blair shared the horrors of the Buddhist-Muslamic girl that laughed at everything in a cackle and who always wore fashionable headdresses, or whatever they're really called. Blair shared the weight of seeing the aforementioned Buddhist-Muslamic girl's Hispanic friend with a semi-bowlcut who loved band and wore a different sun visor every day and always repeat whatever anyone said and put 'your mom' in front of it, every morning for a month. It was pretty awful. At least now our teacher makes a parody of himself and we get some enjoyment out of our small lives. I promised myself I would never talk in detail about what my school days were like, but today I infringed upon this agreement inside of my brain. Next year I'm packing my bags and moving to Cuba to become a poltergeist so I can make my daily accounts more reader-friendly and enticing when I publish them.
Sadly, my reality surmounts to this. You know what the most stressful part of my day was? I had my cell phone taken away in class because, like a fool, I checked the time and just spaced out as I gazed at my background (which incidentally is a picture of my sister's fiancé Steve, taken from a poorly arranged family meal at the Vine); my phone was in clear view of the teacher who snatched it up instinctively. I had to go back down to the office at the end of the day to claim it; the same one that made me feel four and awful. When I arrived, the friendly man with the moustache greeted me.
"Hey, what do ya need?"
"My phone."
"What's your name?"
"Ty. Ty Thursby."
"So?"
"So what?"
"Are you gonna use your phone in class again?"
"I suppose not."
"Alright, I'll go get your phone big guy."
- Stop it. Don't call me 'big guy'. I have a car now. I'm old.
Then the other man standing by the main desk says,
"What were you doing with your phone?" In a friendly manner.
"Just checking the time."
"Don't they have clocks in the room?"
- Yes. They do.
"Yes. They do."
"So?"
"I'm just an idiot, I didn't know they had clocks in the room, I never saw it till after my phone was taken."
"Yeah right, you were playing games on your phone!"
Time to leave.
Life ain't so bad. My current choice activity is reading more of Donald Barthelme's Sixty Stories, which albeit is incredibly confusing for the most part, I still like because of his writing style. I'm not going to go out and say, "this book is for you!" just yet, because with this book it's probably hit or miss for other people. I know Rowena likes Barthelme though, so she'll be the one to receive my copy after I finish the damned thing. Lot of pages and so little dedication. I also am fulfilling a dream of mine to become a card shark. After a heated match of Texas Holdem, (if I'm spelling it right) at Trevor's, which is a variation of poker, I did alright for myself. I pretty much destroyed Matt and Jack, and Tim too for awhile there, but then made rookie bets against Trevor to end up losing my small fortune. After seeing 'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' at Matt's one night, I have been prompted to become a first-rate gambler. Probably one more notch to my list of useless apirations. This Thursday I will be having a poker night with a five dollar buy-in in the midst of some of my other boys at my place. It should be good times, granted theres steady cigar smoke and good tunes being played in the background.
My mother just purchased about ten Mexican sodas tonight, and I'm daring myself to sample them.
However, like every great struggle, at least a timeless story is left in it's wake. This, the struggle of a handful of incompetent adolescents with an obvious and clear math deficiency, is no exception. Well, save for the solitary fat kid who sits in the back who is trying to get ahead. We all don't like him much. But more specifically, this is the story of the seemingly-stoned all-of-the-time Tyler Thursby and his companions Blair, the popular girl from Corona who never quite made it in the field of math, and Elisa, pronounced 'Ah-liss-ah', who studied abroad for a year, because well... even though it's high school, for some reason she could, and did; but alas, her math credits are no good here in the States. Together we discuss the important key issues of the day over a stretch of five hours.
- "I don't understand this section."
- "I don't understand this section. God damn."
- "My friend who is 16 is dating a 20 year old. It's a little creepy."
- "They sure as hell like to make these rooms cold."
- "Can I copy your work?"
- "I need to see your take home test. NOW."
- "I don't understand this section."
Mark my words, though: I will pass this class.
And to all of you who think I'm talking too soon, I am. But I will get through this. Just wait and see.
It's such a shame I never have anything important to talk about other than what I did at school (math, math and math) and who I know there (no one). It's just nice to have Blair and Elisa along my side at my uncomfurtable science table. Blair was in my class last semester at Marcos. Blair shared the horrors of the Buddhist-Muslamic girl that laughed at everything in a cackle and who always wore fashionable headdresses, or whatever they're really called. Blair shared the weight of seeing the aforementioned Buddhist-Muslamic girl's Hispanic friend with a semi-bowlcut who loved band and wore a different sun visor every day and always repeat whatever anyone said and put 'your mom' in front of it, every morning for a month. It was pretty awful. At least now our teacher makes a parody of himself and we get some enjoyment out of our small lives. I promised myself I would never talk in detail about what my school days were like, but today I infringed upon this agreement inside of my brain. Next year I'm packing my bags and moving to Cuba to become a poltergeist so I can make my daily accounts more reader-friendly and enticing when I publish them.
Sadly, my reality surmounts to this. You know what the most stressful part of my day was? I had my cell phone taken away in class because, like a fool, I checked the time and just spaced out as I gazed at my background (which incidentally is a picture of my sister's fiancé Steve, taken from a poorly arranged family meal at the Vine); my phone was in clear view of the teacher who snatched it up instinctively. I had to go back down to the office at the end of the day to claim it; the same one that made me feel four and awful. When I arrived, the friendly man with the moustache greeted me.
"Hey, what do ya need?"
"My phone."
"What's your name?"
"Ty. Ty Thursby."
"So?"
"So what?"
"Are you gonna use your phone in class again?"
"I suppose not."
"Alright, I'll go get your phone big guy."
- Stop it. Don't call me 'big guy'. I have a car now. I'm old.
Then the other man standing by the main desk says,
"What were you doing with your phone?" In a friendly manner.
"Just checking the time."
"Don't they have clocks in the room?"
- Yes. They do.
"Yes. They do."
"So?"
"I'm just an idiot, I didn't know they had clocks in the room, I never saw it till after my phone was taken."
"Yeah right, you were playing games on your phone!"
Time to leave.
Life ain't so bad. My current choice activity is reading more of Donald Barthelme's Sixty Stories, which albeit is incredibly confusing for the most part, I still like because of his writing style. I'm not going to go out and say, "this book is for you!" just yet, because with this book it's probably hit or miss for other people. I know Rowena likes Barthelme though, so she'll be the one to receive my copy after I finish the damned thing. Lot of pages and so little dedication. I also am fulfilling a dream of mine to become a card shark. After a heated match of Texas Holdem, (if I'm spelling it right) at Trevor's, which is a variation of poker, I did alright for myself. I pretty much destroyed Matt and Jack, and Tim too for awhile there, but then made rookie bets against Trevor to end up losing my small fortune. After seeing 'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' at Matt's one night, I have been prompted to become a first-rate gambler. Probably one more notch to my list of useless apirations. This Thursday I will be having a poker night with a five dollar buy-in in the midst of some of my other boys at my place. It should be good times, granted theres steady cigar smoke and good tunes being played in the background.
My mother just purchased about ten Mexican sodas tonight, and I'm daring myself to sample them.