(no subject)
I hate when teachers assign supposed "fun" assignments that attempt to embrace all the primes. Par example, Science and math teachers giving writing assignments, esp. ones involving any modicum of creativity (because they usually only get a modicum). They are not fun. They do not help you learn math. They are annoying chores that have to be done to get a grade . Someone ought to inform teachers about that. Same with "fun" projects that elementary school teachers assign that really need to be done by the parent.
And now, seeing Lily's entry concerning (among other things) Literary, and a few of the replies... everything just feels off kilter. Uneasy. It's one thing when it's just you; it can be a phase, it can be a state of mind, it's dealable. But when it's other people? Lit has always been such an almost sacred thing-- it was Lit, it was home and couches, you didn't mess with it. Questions that once were about myself, when voiced by other people, become possible questioning of Lit as well. And that's just too incomprehensible to deal with.
And so the school year begins with a lovely amount of drama and angst, and angst that we're angsting for more pretentious and egotistic art students amongst us, and my room is much too stuffy and hot. It's because I keep the door closed too much. Signals teenage retreat to lair, possible indications of sulkiness, rebellion, hiding things from parents, et al, see page 139. It's a good thing I don't live in a small apartment like Lily or my craziness levels would skyrocket due to forcing of constant interaction and inability to relieve sexual energy.
Classes are already eating me up more than I really anticipated, and even though I can't work up as much interest as I feel like I need to for other things, I wish there was more time for them. In fact, I could probably blame this whole entry on the hour and a half, two hours I spent finishing those history IDs.
And now, seeing Lily's entry concerning (among other things) Literary, and a few of the replies... everything just feels off kilter. Uneasy. It's one thing when it's just you; it can be a phase, it can be a state of mind, it's dealable. But when it's other people? Lit has always been such an almost sacred thing-- it was Lit, it was home and couches, you didn't mess with it. Questions that once were about myself, when voiced by other people, become possible questioning of Lit as well. And that's just too incomprehensible to deal with.
And so the school year begins with a lovely amount of drama and angst, and angst that we're angsting for more pretentious and egotistic art students amongst us, and my room is much too stuffy and hot. It's because I keep the door closed too much. Signals teenage retreat to lair, possible indications of sulkiness, rebellion, hiding things from parents, et al, see page 139. It's a good thing I don't live in a small apartment like Lily or my craziness levels would skyrocket due to forcing of constant interaction and inability to relieve sexual energy.
Classes are already eating me up more than I really anticipated, and even though I can't work up as much interest as I feel like I need to for other things, I wish there was more time for them. In fact, I could probably blame this whole entry on the hour and a half, two hours I spent finishing those history IDs.