this imploding heart

and the chicago cubs will beat every team in the league

I skipped math last night.

I skipped math last night because I wanted to.

I skipped math and watched The Justice League and ate leftover pasta and flipped through some books about Japanese Americans. Then I dyed and cut my hair in the bathroom, even though I swore I was going to get a professional cut this time.

The back is a little choppy.

When I wrote a friend to get the assignment, she informed me that Mister Sweatervest had asked where I was.

She said I was sick. That's true. I have a cold. But I could have gone to class.

In the weeks since the crippling blow in his office, he has asked me, specifically, every class, once at the break and once at the end, "Are you getting this alright?". And every day, I say "Crystal clear, thank you.", no matter how clear or foggy I am.

I'm functioning on the idea that my teacher options are

1: Myself (with little pushes in the right direction from others) and

2: Mister Sweatervest (with others having to sort out and re-explain everything I absorb from him.)

There are pros and cons to both, but the pros of taking notes out of the book and asking for help from others include: Not Crying and Understanding Pre-Calculus Concepts. As opposed to the pros of mister sweatervest, which include: Weight Loss from Panic and Humiliation Induced Vomiting Spells. (I wish I was kidding.)

And I'll probably go to all of the rest of the classes. I don't mind being there, as he's actually gotten a little better after our little classwide rally about re-explaining. I think he's a fairly pleasant human being who occasionally gets his point across.

But ultimately? I'm blaming him for my being sad on my birthday, even though he was just the wrong guy at the wrong place at the wrong time with a certain amount of wrongheadedness. He owed me one.

Posted by Sonya at February 5, 2004 02:45 PM