summertime blues.
This summer isn’t very exciting. I don’t mind working, but it doesn’t leave much time or anything else, but at the same time, im trying to save money for my beloved future. Otherwise, im terribly frustrated.
So I am taking this math class which isn’t far below calculus. That’s right, and I don’t have a clue. It’s so fast paced, that I am unable to completely absorb the material. I try to spend as much time with the tutor as I can, and they are all so different. Some are good “teachers” others choose to participate in the so called social scene in that tutoring center that its any wonder what im doing there.
I know it’s wrong to think like this, maybe I will pull off a D and get the credit, but unless I can manage to get a B on the next two tests, I don’t get a C and that credit wont transfer. This means I will probably take it over again in the fall, but its probably better off that way. I can’t even manage to hang with the homework.
My second complaint is that it seems to be a crime to ride a bike, especially with gas prices where they are. When I got off work today and grabbed my bike, I find staples in the goddamn seat. WTF????
“Oh, I was just fucking with you, man” he says.
“Hey that’s not cool, it’s not even my bike” I say, “It’s my dad’s”
“It’s not a big deal” he responds
“Why don’t you tell him that” I said, and I left.
I know if I scratched his fucking car with a rock or a key it would be a throw down. And here’s a guy who was asking me to get him booze. He wanted me to walk off the job site, to go to the liquor store, while I was still ON THE CLOCK!!!!!!!
This guy has some serious issues. Fucking pretty boy fuck. I tell him don’t make a habit of asking me to make booze runs. I tell them all that and they tell me they wont but you know they will. It’s a wonder why im not a social creature.
Back to the bike issue…
People yell out car windows “nice bike” with a strong spice of sarcasm in the voice. Cars beep, people make comments. Some things will never change. Its like im 13 forever. I said it would happen and it did. Everything I said would happen or I foresaw taking place came true. Sometimes I scare myself.
On a lighter note, I figured what my zine is going to be about. I’m writing 3 “short” stories. One about a day in Philly, another is more of an essay on the cliché “music is my life” you hear so often its nauseating, and the third is TBA.
Also as far as writing goes, I’ve finally begun work on my ongoing project, writing my so called memoirs.
So here’s another story.
My mom is supposed to come pick me up, right?? Remember I don’t drive a car. So yea, my mom is supposed to come pick me up to check out apartments in the Lehigh Valley with my friend Greg, who I hope doesn’t expect me to sit there all weekend with him and get fucking drunk. I’m not too much up for that.
I hope my mom doesn’t pull any of her antics either. She’s a boozehound with an uncontrollable desire to remain intoxicated for as long as she’s awake. That I am fearful of.
On an end note because I am getting sick of writing this rant, I can’t wait to begin painting class, then maybe I will have time to draw.
So I am taking this math class which isn’t far below calculus. That’s right, and I don’t have a clue. It’s so fast paced, that I am unable to completely absorb the material. I try to spend as much time with the tutor as I can, and they are all so different. Some are good “teachers” others choose to participate in the so called social scene in that tutoring center that its any wonder what im doing there.
I know it’s wrong to think like this, maybe I will pull off a D and get the credit, but unless I can manage to get a B on the next two tests, I don’t get a C and that credit wont transfer. This means I will probably take it over again in the fall, but its probably better off that way. I can’t even manage to hang with the homework.
My second complaint is that it seems to be a crime to ride a bike, especially with gas prices where they are. When I got off work today and grabbed my bike, I find staples in the goddamn seat. WTF????
“Oh, I was just fucking with you, man” he says.
“Hey that’s not cool, it’s not even my bike” I say, “It’s my dad’s”
“It’s not a big deal” he responds
“Why don’t you tell him that” I said, and I left.
I know if I scratched his fucking car with a rock or a key it would be a throw down. And here’s a guy who was asking me to get him booze. He wanted me to walk off the job site, to go to the liquor store, while I was still ON THE CLOCK!!!!!!!
This guy has some serious issues. Fucking pretty boy fuck. I tell him don’t make a habit of asking me to make booze runs. I tell them all that and they tell me they wont but you know they will. It’s a wonder why im not a social creature.
Back to the bike issue…
People yell out car windows “nice bike” with a strong spice of sarcasm in the voice. Cars beep, people make comments. Some things will never change. Its like im 13 forever. I said it would happen and it did. Everything I said would happen or I foresaw taking place came true. Sometimes I scare myself.
On a lighter note, I figured what my zine is going to be about. I’m writing 3 “short” stories. One about a day in Philly, another is more of an essay on the cliché “music is my life” you hear so often its nauseating, and the third is TBA.
Also as far as writing goes, I’ve finally begun work on my ongoing project, writing my so called memoirs.
So here’s another story.
My mom is supposed to come pick me up, right?? Remember I don’t drive a car. So yea, my mom is supposed to come pick me up to check out apartments in the Lehigh Valley with my friend Greg, who I hope doesn’t expect me to sit there all weekend with him and get fucking drunk. I’m not too much up for that.
I hope my mom doesn’t pull any of her antics either. She’s a boozehound with an uncontrollable desire to remain intoxicated for as long as she’s awake. That I am fearful of.
On an end note because I am getting sick of writing this rant, I can’t wait to begin painting class, then maybe I will have time to draw.