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Oh Sylvia, Sylvia Physics take-home test tonight. I don't understand a word of it...Sylvia Plath, you are such a goddam genius!! My feelings, worded EXACTLY. "The day I went into physics class it was death...[The teacher] stood in front of the class...holding a wooden ball. He put the ball on a steep grooved slide and let it run down to the bottom. Then he started talking about let a equal acceleration and let t equal time and suddenly he was scribbling letters and numbers and equal signs all over the blackboard and my mind went dead. I may have made a straight A in physics, but I was panic-struck. Physics made me sick the whole time I learned it. Instead of leaf shapes and enlarged diagrams of the holes the leaves breathe through and fascinating words like carotene and xanthophyll on the blackboard, there were these hideous, cramped, scorpion-lettered formulas in Mr. Manzi's special red chalk. I knew chemistry would be worse, because I'd seen a big chart of the ninety-odd elements hung up in the chemistry lab, and all the perfectly good words like gold and silver and cobalt and aluminum were shortened to ugly abbreviations with different decimal numbers after them. If I had to strain my brain with any more of that stuff I would go mad. I would outright fail. It was only by a horrible effort of will that I had dragged myself through the first half of the year." BEAUTIFUL!! I've been up doing this stupid test forever now, and I just want to go lay down and cry a bit and all that. I sound like the cheesiest love sick bastard in the world, I know. People think I'm "depressed", but I'm just upset. I don't see the need for a fucking diagnosis. I was told that England isn't possible, and either I can sit on my ass and complain and cry and whine, or I can actually write to Middlesex (where I've decided I wanna go) and discuss scholarships and costs and requirements for acceptance. And this summer, I can get a new, well-paying job, and be able to send myself to England. I will shoot myself later if I look back knowing I didn't even try to make it happen for me. So, that helps me think more positively. Last thing I need is to get to the point where I'm so down that I kill myself before I get the chance to see a future that I've dreamed of for so long. ...Maybe I should try praying. -Snub P.S. Bend it like Beckham was a good movie. The mother was the English woman from "A Doll's House," where I absolutely despiiiised her, but she was excellent in this. And those athletes in sports bras absolutely kill me. (in a good way..) We had to watch the movie with captioning because my family couldn't understand a word the English folks were saying...I found it interesting that I understood every bit of it :| Confession of the day: I masturbate in the shower. Nearly every day.
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