Aged Cat

Ah, spring break. Rest, relaxation. Rejuvination, recuperation. Fuck "reduce reuse recycle", this is where the real re- prefix is at. And though that "Ah" at the beginning of this post may imply to you faithful readers a sense of relief (another re-. It's re-diculous), rather that "Ah" is meant to be slightly ironic, as while spring break was a much needed necessity (re-peating re-dundancy... Anyone getting sick of this yet?) it was also mad taxing on my soul. I tried my best to squeeze in family, friend, girlfriend and, least of all, me time into an incredibly short and straining 10 days. Damn my popularity. I wish no one liked me so I could brood in my room all day instead of enjoying other people's company. Unfortunantly, for some reason beyond my comprehension, people do like me and want me around. I don't even want me around; you suckers can have me. But I had a fabulous time over these past 10 days and think I pulled it off splendidly. I saw an approximately equal time with everyone, and felt appropiate Catholic-style for those I neglected. The only problem being now I feel very stressed and need another vacation.

But fuck that. Vacation is for the weak. I shall start class tomorrow in the worn out, bogged down shape I'm in and like it, dammit.

Yep. It's a start of a brand new trimester. No, I'm not getting an abortion: My school is split into three quarters. It wouldn't really be called a quarter then, technically, but I'm not about to call it a fucking "third" after spending all my life in a god-damned even number state of acadamia. Anyone who gets that technical deserves to be slapped in the teeth anyway. That's right: The start of the year, clean slate, second chances. If you could see me, I'd be raising my fists to about head level in apathetic excitment, squeaking a dead-mouse-esque "Yay" from my parched and half-open mouth. See, I didn't do fabulous last quarter, so I feel I need to make up for it by being the best student ever. I'm gonna be that little bitch you always hated at the front of the class with the pocket protector and ready answer to pointless geographical location questions, but only in spirit. I plan on being the same nonchalant jackass in the back of the class who says "Pssht" to everything the teacher says while leaning back in my chair, picking my teeth with a toothpick. Actually, I plan to adopt neither persona, but simply felt like writing about the two. I'm just going to flat out do well, and though I know I say this same thing every semester since 7th grade, this time it's going to be true. And I know I say that one every time too, but... uh... Now I have no way to wrap up this sentence without engaging in a pointless and drawn-out circle of writing. So I'll just claim that, in all sincerity, I shall make it so. On top of that, I want to get all my side project stuff in order, like get together a band finally, start drawing a comic again, and all that other non-school related stuff. I also want to eat better, exercise more, and get lots of time outside, now that it's so friggin' nice out. I want to do everything. I will.

Ok. See that? That, friends, is optimism, once again rearing it's ugly head 'round the corner to look at me square in the eyes. Optimism is the enemy, or rather it is the policeman on a sting operation here to set me up. All optimism serves to do is say "Pull" and send the plate that is my soul into the heavens, and while this plate truly believes it's been set free and can fly forever, it soon realizes it was only released so Charlton Heston could shoot it down and feel a fleeting sense of pride at having destroyed it. Yes, folks, that plate (my soul, remember. Don't get lost in the metaphor) is now in shards all over the ground. I was all set to improve my life and feel good about myself when life bitch-slaps me simply to show me who's boss. See, I didn't think I was going to do too well in two of my classes in last quarter, so I avoided looking at the grades for as long as possible. Well, I checked today, and... Hey! I got C's in both of them! Yes, Mom, a C is not great. But, trust me, it's much better than what I thought I was getting. This is a large part of what made me want to improve my grades. Then I saw my English grade.

D+.

Are you fucking shitting me, you mother fucking shit eater? I had a steady B in your class all fucking semester and you fucking spring this shit on me last minute like some douchy big fuck god damn shit-cock? Fuck you!

Sorry, that was really directed towards my teacher, who isn't reading this anyhow, not you, Betty Sue the Amish orphan. Just don't tell Jesus, ok? This is just between me and you. There's a good girl.

[Herein Jack speaks solely to the teacher. Upon realization he will never read this and this passage is really more for my other readers, you may continue on and not feel guilty/confused about reading something directed at someone else. Go on. Continue.] Alright. Granted I was a dick to you all semester (I plan on interchanging "quarter" and "semester" whenever I feel like it, to kepp you on your toes, you know. Get used to it). Granted I missed a few days of class and took a moral opposition to every assignment you gave. Granted I openly questioned every little fucking dumbass rule you gave and would not sit idly by and let you barf bullshit from your gaping maw. Granted I never listened and fell backwards in my chair mid-lesson once. Granted I pissed you off. Grant all of this. I still did your fucking assignments. I still did god damn good on them too. If I'm getting a B at the end of the semester before I turn in my final paper, how in the balls do I drop two fucking grades on a paper you deemed not only acceptible but well-written upon inspection of the rough draft? I made all the little minute dick-hole corrections to the bibliography and comma placement you asked me to, which I subconsciously did wrong in the first place anyway to piss you off, even though that shit shouldn't matter anyway. You aren't not seeing the forest for the trees, you're not seeing the forest because you're facing the opposite direction, your eyes are closed and your head is buried several feet below the ground. You taught us the wrong way to do that shit anyway; all I did in your class was anti-learn. Everything I knew about commas and grammar and bibliographies you shoved out of my head, sliced into little pieces and fed back to me with your special homemade topping of LIES!!!

Yes, I needed some ranting time. Feel free to skip that paragraph if you please, though I suppose if you're reading this one, chances are you already read that one. Well, those are the breaks. The only thing I can think of that would drop me that much is the portfolio we had to turn it at the end, more bullshit, which basically is a collection of all the stupid crap handouts he's dumped on us throughout the class. With no list of what to have in it nor how to do it, how in the fuck can it possibly be wrong? My teacher handed out a political cartoon towards the end of class we neither discussed, read nor acknowledged. In my portfolio, I isolated that into a section called "Handouts you gave us that we never discussed that you only gave to us as a test to see if they'd be in here". That's tough to write on a tab about .5 X 1 inches long, so you know I spent time and effort on this portfolio (essentially a glorified pile of paper waste), despite this effort going into being an asshole to my teacher.

Can you actually legitimatly drop two grades for being an asshole? It was simply my little way of saying subtly "You suck as a teacher and I hated every minute of your shitty class". I never did anything drastically wrong in any assignment, nor did I neglect to do them. All I did was be a prick. It's my God-given right as an American to be a prick to those that deserve it. You can't argue with that logic: it's got both "God" and "America" in it. I can't sit idly by and let some teacher be a douche without being a pissy little thorn in their side; it just wouldn't be right. But it's also not right to judge my academic work on my personal behavior. I'm considering several options in this situation: Write a pissy e-mail, with similar words and phrasings as are seen in this post; write a cordial, polite e-mail asking simply why my grade is as it is; or speak to him in person. The problem with in person is I may not be able to control the pissy/polite ratio as well as I can textually. Basically, this will not stand. And if it sits it'll be really uncomfortable, and maybe it's leg will fall asleep.

So, yes, there you have it. Yet another example of optimism kicking me in the ass. I'm afraid to feel joy now. How can I ever achieve anything if the feeling of happiness and excitment is consistently crushed as soon as it is brought into this world? Bah! Eh, fuck it. I'll still try my damndest this quarter, maybe even more so now that I know I did bad in English. Check back in with me and see if I've kept up my empty promise.

And if not, I promise I'll do better next year.