Mr. Z Told Me So (And Let School Eat Dick)
You've heard that "everything we need to know, we learned in kindergarten." As I sit putting off studying for the final final of my penultimate semester as an undergraduate (fucking zoology), I have to agree that "sharing makes everyone happy" means more to me than "the phospholipid bilayers of cell membranes include both hydrophobic and hydrophilic regions." Sharing comes up more in my ranger talks, too, by which I mean that I actually talk about the need to share, whereas nobody but fucking life science professors, with nothing better to do than waste precious hours of my life in a sad attempt to bring meaning to theirs ("my class weeds out the slackers!"), would ever ask me about phospholipid bilayers. Nobody remembers those little factoids because nobody gives a shit. Fucking college. I will torch you.
But journaling makes me happy! While I don't remember having journaling thrust upon me in kindergarten, it didn't come too much later; as it turned out, my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Z, knew his stuff. It only took 17 years to catch on! It feels good to write, to get all the craziness out of my head and into the heads of others. Thanks for reading; it makes me feel important in a time when shithead professors and administrators and bureaucrats toy with my life, laughing to each other about the sweet new flaming hoops they'll make me jump through on my way to a life much happier than any of theirs.
Okay, I don't know how much longer these profanity-laced tirades will dominate my journal, but I promise, journaling makes me happy and I have more to offer you than piss and vinegar. Stay tuned!
Mr. Z still knows his shit.
But journaling makes me happy! While I don't remember having journaling thrust upon me in kindergarten, it didn't come too much later; as it turned out, my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Z, knew his stuff. It only took 17 years to catch on! It feels good to write, to get all the craziness out of my head and into the heads of others. Thanks for reading; it makes me feel important in a time when shithead professors and administrators and bureaucrats toy with my life, laughing to each other about the sweet new flaming hoops they'll make me jump through on my way to a life much happier than any of theirs.
Okay, I don't know how much longer these profanity-laced tirades will dominate my journal, but I promise, journaling makes me happy and I have more to offer you than piss and vinegar. Stay tuned!
Mr. Z still knows his shit.