(no subject)
word.
someone just called and was all HeyINeedATutorHowAreMondaysAndThursdaysFromFiveToSixAllRightSeeYouThen.
and i was all WhatContextOkayBye.
i don't even know what grade Said Kid is in.
um.
school is Lame And Stuff. i'm unmotivated as hell and i come home and sleep/eat/read/piano. note the excellent parallel structure that necessitates Piano as a Verb. pretty much.
it's okay. prostitution/hoboism doesn't require a high GPA.
it would be utter irony if i did do passably well in These Classes That I Really Do Enjoy But For Which I Cannot Bring Myself To Prepare Muchly. sad, though. i like learning. i like classes and teachers. i like school, really. really. but dude. it's been eleven years and i'm sure i've heardforgotten All Of These Things several times before my Learning Process actually demands retention. it's fucking Frustrating. not Boring, mind you. but Frustration reigns.
my mother: are you sure you want to take seven ap tests? that's a lot. and also one every day for a week and a half. and also nigh 600 dollars. and also [fucking insane]. and also a week before sat iis.
me: mmhmm. yup.
my father: do they give you money or anything for winning?
me: mmmnope. that would be a no.
my father: oh. well...go for it, right. sure you can handle it. tests are fun.
my father wins the Cool Prize.
edit: [[except for his bringing up marriage in the car yesterday. dudewhatisthat.
him: so i heard you're not having kids.
me: righty-o.
him: that's sort of a shame. but it's okay. they sort of impede independence.
me: sorry about that.
him: but you'll get married, right?
me: probably. ayn rand got married and then openly had an affair when she was in her forties with a twenty-year-old. she dedicated one of her books to both of them.
him: ah...okay, then. right.
hurray for fathers.]]
someone just called and was all HeyINeedATutorHowAreMondaysAndThursdaysFromFiveToSixAllRightSeeYouThen.
and i was all WhatContextOkayBye.
i don't even know what grade Said Kid is in.
um.
school is Lame And Stuff. i'm unmotivated as hell and i come home and sleep/eat/read/piano. note the excellent parallel structure that necessitates Piano as a Verb. pretty much.
it's okay. prostitution/hoboism doesn't require a high GPA.
it would be utter irony if i did do passably well in These Classes That I Really Do Enjoy But For Which I Cannot Bring Myself To Prepare Muchly. sad, though. i like learning. i like classes and teachers. i like school, really. really. but dude. it's been eleven years and i'm sure i've heardforgotten All Of These Things several times before my Learning Process actually demands retention. it's fucking Frustrating. not Boring, mind you. but Frustration reigns.
my mother: are you sure you want to take seven ap tests? that's a lot. and also one every day for a week and a half. and also nigh 600 dollars. and also [fucking insane]. and also a week before sat iis.
me: mmhmm. yup.
my father: do they give you money or anything for winning?
me: mmmnope. that would be a no.
my father: oh. well...go for it, right. sure you can handle it. tests are fun.
my father wins the Cool Prize.
edit: [[except for his bringing up marriage in the car yesterday. dudewhatisthat.
him: so i heard you're not having kids.
me: righty-o.
him: that's sort of a shame. but it's okay. they sort of impede independence.
me: sorry about that.
him: but you'll get married, right?
me: probably. ayn rand got married and then openly had an affair when she was in her forties with a twenty-year-old. she dedicated one of her books to both of them.
him: ah...okay, then. right.
hurray for fathers.]]