The teacher with eyes like a dead fish's needs to die

I feel as though I should give you an update about the Christmas holidays, since I haven't written anything in a long while.

It was shit.

I got a blanket, a murder mystery dinner party hosted by Almond, and...ope. That's it.

I get to pay for my own cell phone.
My parents still owe me $200.
It's January all over again and school is being a jackass to me.

You know how I wrote that hate post about Christmas? Either Karma wanted to make my negativity come true, or I was right not to expect anything.


Have you ever felt so infinitely superior to the peers around you, yet so insatiably small? Almost as though you could be floating on a cloud of awesomeness while all the little teenagers crawl about your feet, begging to be granted the same glory you pertain while at the same time being equal in size and completely alone?

Well, sometimes, I do.

The feeling is more so the idea that I'm separated on an island, thousands of miles away, yet still able to see them, while I look to my future. Let me try again. There's a red line dividing me and the rest of American Fork High, and while they all look at one another or to the short future, I'm looking away, and towards the long term future.

I feel this every time I feel like I'm making progress in life. I've decided what my senior year will be like. I'm going to a UVU college day opportunity to research my options. I'm being proactive about it, optimistic as humanly possible.

But every story has its antagonist.

I've been so busy looking towards my future that I stopped looking at the present. It's the end of the semester and my lowest current grade is a D+.

Oh sweet Jesus, I never done any harm to people to deserve this!

I've done other things, like guiltlessly wished a death fifty times to one specific girl in my U.S. History class. But that's a discussion for a later time.

Did I ever tell you about Mr. Lind's English Honors 11 class and his point system for grading? I'm not quite sure I did, and if I did, I'll make the rant quick. Basically, he thinks he can put 100,000 points into our grades on Skyward. (Which can't be done, so he substitutes with 999 points 10 times.) And that's per term.

So here I am, earning my lovely project points and doing everything I'm supposed to be doing to reach 100,000 points this term two, and Mr. Hot-Shot-dead-fish-guy Lind comes around and says, "Hey, I can only give you 30,000 points of project writings. The rest has to be the assignments I gave you that I'm just now saying are required. Hah. Sorry." So now he's only given me 61,000 points when I earned 98,000. Why haven't I gone to get it up?

Sort of impossible, considering he chose this very week, the week right before the semester ends, when all work has to be graded and in on Monday night at midnight, to go indulge himself in sunshine, coconuts, geckos on the ceiling, and pretty sunsets in Hawaii. Our only resource is to email him. He said that while he was gone, he would check our emails. I've sent him two emails. One of which angrily states that I didn't like his point system and that I'm not happy he chose to go to Hawaii this week. And my grade still hasn't been changed.

I wish upon him the curse of eating too much fat food at Hawaii and getting extremely fat so that he will be very depressed and quit his job and leave us with a better teacher. That, or kill himself. Which ever one works best.

That was a shameless wish I'm never taking back.

I write some pretty mean, contradicting things on here. Controversial, in fact. I'm warning you guys right now, the minute I have to sign up for something that will change my life for the better, and those people go about the internet searching for things I've done or said, this blog will be deleted. Heh. It has very rude things. Bad words. Irrefutable loathing of dish-washing.  Insufferable damage to the hearts of the intended people I mean to offend. Things like that.

I also want to take the time to be angry at my financial literature teacher, Mr. Spencer.

Okay, so I don't take notes during class, and anything businessy and mathematical he drones through his mouth goes right over my head, but that doesn't mean that I don't know my stuff!

Well I don't. But that's beside the point. Half of the semester final he gave us today was about insurance. Insurance that he didn't teach us AT ALL this year. Things that were from first term that we've all forgotten were on there too. I probably failed that test epically, and I'm pissed about it.

And to wrap up everything I've just barfed out to you, this inability to have A's this term is the antagonist to gaining a reputation on my transcript for future colleges. Frankly, I'm stressed and angry, and very glad the semester is changing in two days. I'm tired of Journalism and Financial literature, and I'm waiting for the counselors to not be booked so I can talk to one of them about my teachers.

Ahhh. You see? I'm so angry that my normal stylistic and beautiful writing is jarred and cluttered today, and might as well be a slur of text that no one will read anyway.

Worst of all.

My friends are moody as shit, my favorite and most memorable great grandpa more is in the hospital sick with pneumonia, Rachel's going on a mission in less than a year, and I'm nowhere close to financially ready to be a grown up going to college...

Thus begins another wave of impending depression that crushes my chest and leaves me unable to breathe.