the first day of school
Well to start off with, no one packed me a bagged lunch, I wasn't wearing a new outfit, and I didn't get my picture taken looking school ready, all clad with my book-bag and nervous smile. Actually, none of those things every happened to me as a child on the first day of school (seeing as I was number 5 and by that point, who cares?), but it was disappointing none the less.
I'm going to skip all of the positive points about our apartment coming together, my probability class which may be easy as well as interestingly fun, and how much I enjoy a certain boy. Instead, I am going to focus all of my attention on the negative, the hell (known to only a select, foolish few) as Analysis. When a professor begins his class with, "I don't know how to make this class fun. It's really hard." [insert ridiculous accent] you know it isn't good. Those aren't very encouraging words, and I don't think the suggestion of "joke time" is going to help to the extent that I desperately need help.
Ya see, I used to think I was good at math. It made me feel good when I understood things that my peers did not. However, it is classes like this that crush my self-esteem. They make me think, "Hmm, perhaps I'm not cut out for this whole math major thing, but too damn bad. It's too late. You're screwed up the ass. With a broom handle held by a professor who's name you can barely pronounce. Sucker." These are not the happy thoughts of the sort I used to entertain. School is menace to my mental health. Actually let me rephrase that, seeing as though the whole of school is not the problem. Analysis is a class that was rooted up from the pits of hell to torment me and other math majors alike and plague their spirits. Yes, that sounds much more correct.
Did I mention that this semester I have Analysis 1 and next semester it's on to Analysis 2?
oh joy
I'm going to skip all of the positive points about our apartment coming together, my probability class which may be easy as well as interestingly fun, and how much I enjoy a certain boy. Instead, I am going to focus all of my attention on the negative, the hell (known to only a select, foolish few) as Analysis. When a professor begins his class with, "I don't know how to make this class fun. It's really hard." [insert ridiculous accent] you know it isn't good. Those aren't very encouraging words, and I don't think the suggestion of "joke time" is going to help to the extent that I desperately need help.
Ya see, I used to think I was good at math. It made me feel good when I understood things that my peers did not. However, it is classes like this that crush my self-esteem. They make me think, "Hmm, perhaps I'm not cut out for this whole math major thing, but too damn bad. It's too late. You're screwed up the ass. With a broom handle held by a professor who's name you can barely pronounce. Sucker." These are not the happy thoughts of the sort I used to entertain. School is menace to my mental health. Actually let me rephrase that, seeing as though the whole of school is not the problem. Analysis is a class that was rooted up from the pits of hell to torment me and other math majors alike and plague their spirits. Yes, that sounds much more correct.
Did I mention that this semester I have Analysis 1 and next semester it's on to Analysis 2?
oh joy
posted by that girl at
4:45 PM
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