Today was crappy. A teacher (actually student-teacher) gave me a really queer look when I walked into Math Analysis, as if I’m not already a complete outcast in there. She took my note disgustedly (it was notebook paper, and it wasn’t like I’d chewed it up and smeared peanut butter and whipped cream on it, Germs-style) and read it…and then took it to her teacher (a college professor, not my teacher) and asked him to tell her if it was forged! And she was dead serious. You can say I’m ugly, dirty, and stupid…I will likely tolerate that because my mom tells me otherwise, but the two insults I won’t take are that I’m fat and that I’m dishonest. I’ve worked so hard on both of those things, my weight and my integrity, that it makes me very angry when someone stereotypes so much because of the way I look or because of my grades. I’m honest to the point where I often shorten my end of the deal. I hate unfairness. I’ve never cheated on a test or a quiz even a little, I’m that honest. It sounds lame, but it’s good practice for college. For the rest of the class, I was in a complete huff. She’s a student teacher, and she always disregards me as though I’m something that can’t be worked on. After my actual teacher had given me the schpiel about how my Honours Algebra II teacher was inadequate and that was why I had a D (I did not believe her at all and still don’t–it’s very much my fault for slacking this year and last), the student teacher kept making snide comments about how “No wonder you have a D.” I’m not a D student; I’m just not obsessive about math, ever. And way to rub it in. You’re supposed to be helping me and encouraging me, not pushing my face in the mud.
The good things about my anger were that the student teacher’s teacher dismissed my pass as “Not forged.” OWNED. My handwriting was smaller…and why would I forge a pass to class? I’m fine with coming in late. Why didn’t she just ring up Mr. M. if she was so unsure of my honesty? I get 70s on every single quiz and test when I sit near Asians who get 100s and snicker when they see my scores, which flusters me to no end because I’m not Asian and therefore have a smaller brain capacity regarding science and math…and art, too. Fuck it. Why don’t they just tell me out loud that they think I’m fucking dumb instead of pretending to keep it to themselves? I see their necks craning to see my scores and my solutions to problems anyway. It’s no secret they think I’m stupid. Oh. The other good thing about being angry all through class was that I was in my own world and thus got all the practice problems we did in class right. And I kept that to myself for personal satisfaction. Yeah, those Asian kids can snicker that she passed my 76 percent (almost an 80, I’m almost there!) test back face up on my desk on purpose (much to my dismay), but at least I know I got all the classwork problems right today. Yesssss. Improvement only took this long. A set of nine weeks.
God, I wish I was able to let things go easier. Then I wouldn’t write a book about some college chick thinking I’m a liar. These entries would be far more interesting that way. And you know you’d like that.
Um. I think my main purpose was to tell you all that my new favourite song is the Bright Eyes cover of “Seashell Tale,” which is on Noise Floor, which is the most fucking amazing album to date, despite the fact that it is not a complete thought like “Fevers and Mirrors” or “Lifted.” It’s complete, though, because you get to hear all of “For You,” and there are classic tracks all over the place, climbing out of the woodwork. It’s crazy.
I need to shower and do homework so I don’t fail school or anything. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Hopefully.
A note to all sympathizers/empathizers: Please. Don’t. Leave. Comments. Saying. You’re. Sorry. Ever. Again. I write to get out my frustrations and then I feel better; when I have people sympathizing once I’m over it, this only makes me irked and distressed. If you’re going to even it out by weighing everything down with a soggy sarcastic comment, that’s fine, but if you inadvertently (or advertently) encourage me to wallow in grief and self-pity, I get that you’re trying to be kind and say the right thing, but know that I’m quite the sarcastic person, and I cannot handle full-on sap, ever. I hate it. Henceforth, I will delete it. Everything has a “right” sarcastic comment; you just need to figure out what it is first. Even when I’m in a horrible mood, I can appreciate sarcasm.
Speaking of which…
A note to all indie kids who appreciate sarcasm a good bit: Go here. Read the article itself (funny funny), and then read some of the comments, namely the 1st and the 78th, pretty much for reference. You might want to read a few others, at your discretion; they’re mostly fucking dipshits who can’t spell. And then read the 91st comment, maybe, if you’re up to it. I forgot to add that I hate it when people can’t spell ‘Sebastian’ as in ‘Belle & Sebastian’ right. It’s not hard, fucktard. Thank you Divya for the word “fucktard.”
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