Not hate, per se, because that's such a strong word I don't think I would be able to curse anything or anyone with it willingly. I really really dislike it. How about that? Sound better, right?
It's not a question of whether it's difficult or if it's just simply boring, it's more of a panicking feeling I get when I see graphs and functions. Honestly, Algebra's the easiest thing that ever happened to me, but considering my previous Calculus professor.... I don't ever want to see a graph of a cosine or a derivative of a cosecant painted on a grid. Bad memories. Very bad memories. memories of a 9:45 appointment at the shooting range and a bullet with my name craved on it already in place, just waiting for me to stand still in the first seat of the third row beside the window. In front of an incredibly attractive jock who barely knew what quiet and personal space mean.
This time around, it doesn't seem so bad. Algebra sure as heck isn't Calculus, so there's nothing to worry about, yes?
Oh, but how wrong that though is! The last weeks, I sit in a round table with wide-eyed fellow students, BAM! we are assigned to do3645245 hw assignments and a service learning reflection thingy worth only 237682742364% of our final grade in the course. How exciting. I can't wait to see how I'm going to pull that one off.
I guess it would be easier if it was a Law class. I mean, really, it's my major for goodness' sake. It shouldn't be trouble at all.
WRONG AGAIN.
I'm either an incredibly bad judge of circumstances or life is letting me down with a huge punch to the back, making me double over and kiss the ground I walk on freely. Because it's not as if I was paying to do this. Oh, no, no, no. They're paying me. And therein lies the reason why complaining about it in real time and space would be fruitless. I'm being paid to study... something everyone does eventually at one point or another. So why moan and grunt about having classes that aren't "what I expected" if they're being given as a gift. Practically given with something more added on, too.
It makes me think of a gift wrapped in torn newspaper that's been recycled. It looks kind of ugly, but in the end when you open it up and see the limited edition of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with J.K. Rowling's signature in gold in the first page, you forget the crappy paper that wrapped it up. But not before you rant and rave about the sacred nature of such a text that should be preserved in an altar next to the dirty napkin you picked up from the rubbish bin in the Fish N' Chips shop you saw Jo eating at with her kids.
Bah, but I digress. What I'm actually trying to say is that I realized my patience is amazing when I stood in line for an hour at the bookstore between MAC1105 and PLA2003 waiting to purchase my law book (THE LAST WEEK OF THE SEMESTER) for EIGHTY-SIX DOLLARS, which is covered by the moolah from the Honors College anyway. But I need it for the Final anyway.
In retorspect, it was a decent day. PLA2003 wasn't as exciting as it has been for the last 16 weeks, but that's fine, because what's life with too many adrenaline rushes? Maybe a cheap version of the scene from that intellectually forsaken low-budget film where a serial killer stalker saves a failed teenager from being crushed by a van. Maybe you know what I'm talking about, but maybe you don't. The important thing is that I haven't gotten back to writing that next chapter to "Learning to Spell Love" and I foresee some very angry readers who will send me tomatoes through Private Messages on FanFiction and Twitter.
Speaking of which, I have to drop by and say goodnight to my favorite Twibabe, Traci.
Oh, the wonders of the internet and the balbbings of an eternally distracted PoliSci major who really wishes she could be a English Lit major and live happily ever after in Oregon, with the tall, white, intelligent man that's someday going to bump into her in Liberal Arts school.
