Narwhals are pretty cool

NOTE: This post was written on the premise of misery and tears. Sorry I’m such a sad sack. Then I turned angry and ranty so most of it doesn’t actually make any sense, especially if you have a brain that works logically. Don’t judge me.

I can’t remember the days when I actually cared about school. Back in freshman year, sometimes I did my homework two days before it was due, and I even studied for tests now and then. Now, though, I’ve realized that school is basically like trying to complete a  fifty-mile race on an autistic pig.  My academic progress through the years has declined exponentially; the fact that my glory days were in sixth grade (seriously, I used to be golden) is a sad, sad testament to the festering pile of misery that is currently my life.

I know that I’m wallowing and wallowing is for narcissistic losers but lately I’ve been so miserable over my grades that I’ve just given up. I used to think I was decent at science, but now thanks to chem and a certain science teacher whose classroom reeks of sadness, I realized that I am an utterly incompetent fool who deserves to go back to grade school and relearn my goddamn times tables. I’ll do a long, ranty post about how fucked up I think the school system is later, but right now I don’t want to think about school anymore because it’ll make me want to  stomp on a cat.

I honestly don’t understand how some people manage to juggle schoolwork, sleep, and a social life. I don’t even have any sort of tiny semblance of that third one, yet I’m getting completely raped. Though I guess I should be kind of glad that I’m an antisocial basement dweller, because I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything. I’ve never been to a dance, and I have no desire to ever do so, and when I tell people this they look at me like I’ve just urinated on their Bible or something.

What am I supposed to say? “I’m sorry, but having strangers rub their crotches on me and around me for three hours doesn’t exactly sound like great fun“? Or maybe “Golly whiz, you’re right! Silly me, I didn’t see the fun in dry-humping strangers for several hours!” And if it’s freaking with people you’re actually familiar with, how is it not incredibly awkward the day after? I can see it now: “Oh, hello there. My pelvis, whose name is Chester, seemed to be highly attracted to you yesterday. He is quite sore in the aftermath of last night, but perhaps Chester and your pelvis would be willing to get cozy again sometime?“

I won’t judge people if they want to go grind on strangers, but I’m so tired of people asking me why I never go to dances and treating me like I’m some nine-year-old idiot just because I don’t find crotch-rubbing appealing. Usually I just say “Why does it even matter?” but they usually don’t interpret that correctly, which is to mean “Why do you care if I have an aversion to physical proximity? Maybe I was mauled by a butterfly when I was younger and now I can’t stand to be around living things anymore, except trees and stuff because they can’t move or talk, and also because they’re more edible. Asshole.”

~ by jackattack on October 29, 2010.