La frivolite

I have this endless cycle of days.
I mean, like, more than just weeks, repeating themselves every day. It seems like I do the same things in every class. Every day. Every single day. Like honestly. And in every hour. Maybe. Except maybe the real secret is that I just want something to blog about.
But legitimately.

Bio is my class for half-sleeping, half answering all of the teacher's questions because I'm a suck up. Actually, I really like bio, and I would consider being some sort of biology-professioned individual if I wasn't so sick at the sight of internal organs and blood and I wasn't made for the stages of New York. Too bad. The poor whales will have to do without me being their biologist. As well as the ugly men. Except I wouldn't be their marine biologist, only their doctor or nurse. I would be like House. Except not British, and I don't have a cane. Yet. If I ever do become a doctor, I may take my studies to England, hurt my knee in a...squash accident, and separate myself from my old life so that I could start fresh, with the last name of 'Apartment.' Yes. Yes.

Social is my class for getting angry, bored, tired, artistic, or debating- depending on how I feel about the teacher, people, projects, nationalism and things that are not nationalism on that particular day. Let me tell you something. I will never do anything in my life to involve Social Studies. I hate Social Studies. They should be called Unsocial Studies, because the only people who continue with Social Studies in their life or enjoy it in the least bit are those with no lives. And thus, are unsociable. Thus, Unsocial Studies. I always feel unsocial simply standing in that room with that teacher who I used to feel sorry for. Now I don't. Now I don't like her like the rest of the world.
(Like, seriously. I'm one of the only ones who pays attention to you. Get off your crazy horse and be a reasonable marker with my things or I will become just as bad as That Girl I Hate So Much I Want To Bash Her Brains In With A Bottle of The Stupid She Overdosed On. Hee-Hee.)

I will call her TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO. She will be my TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO and I will call her TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO.

Chemistry. Ah, Chemistry. This is the class where we do stupid things, like steal people's butterfly clamps and laugh maniacally, hide the remnants of things we broke in other cabinets, spill acid on ourselves; others; the floors; the counters; and any other sentient or non-sentient being around,where we lament on our lack of care and/or knowledge about Chemistry, where we vow to shoot ourselves in the foot and slowly cut our heads off with dull knives if we ever become a Chemist or someone who deals with anything as redundant and clearly pathetic as hydrochloric acid that doesn't even burn a hole in your hand, where we complain about everything and anything that even comes up to a 0.01% on the complainability scale (if it is a day ending in -day, or where there is snow on the ground, or both, that number shrinks to about a 0.0001%), where we argue with silly teachers and stupid boys, where we analyse the contents of Astrid's bag instead of the components of some sort of Chemical mixture, where we try to spend as little time as possible and make up absurd excuses to get out of class (like Rachel has to go shoot up again and cannot do so in the proximity of our ogling classmates), (we haven't actually used that one before, we should), and other such useful and highly unchemical and really quite lab-inappropriate behaviours.

And then, English, where we learn not to use such terrible run-on sentence structure as I never have before (see above.) But English is just not really a subject to complain about, when we spent the last two classes watching a movie starring Ralph Fiennes, and decided that it is actually a prequel to Harry Potter, and spent the entire period(s) whispering "Kill the spare" whenever things were looking down for poor Ralph aka Voldemort. You know what else we do? Listen to Maggie, the next brightest young mind in the planet, come up with absurdly relevent and clever metaphors, exhibited below:

"Evil is like carrots...You need them to see good."

Yes, ladies and gents, we are in the presence of a genius. I'm not even being sarcastic a little.
No, I'm ACTUALLY not.

The only real problem with English, in fact, is that it's completely ruthless...

Ah well. You win some, you lose some. This actually made me feel like quite a more jovial person than I was 15 minutes ago. But now it is WAY past my bedtime. Goodnight, moon.