The Natatorium

An emporium of oddities from around the world, complete with somewhat informative plaques that almost never match the item they are meant to be describing.

Friday, November 21, 2003

::sigh:: another thoroughly schitzo day.

I started it off by punishing myself. I don't really know why. I don't know what derranged impulse made me reach into the back seat and grab The Cure, then proceed to pop it into my CD player. I was rewarded with ghostly apparitions of my past dancing across my field of vision all the way to school.

English was not bad. In fact, it was very good. We read Act II of Hamlet, and the people in my class made it so funny, we were laughing the whole time. It actually is a funny section of the play. There's this old guy who rambles on forever (polonius) and Hamlet is pretending to be crazier than he is, etc... it's great. Probably the best part was when a pass was delivered to our class by an office worker. Mrs. Satzinger inspected it, but by the time she realized the recipient of the pass was absent, and tried to call the office worker back, the worker had already left the room. She tried to call after her to come back, but when she didn't get a response some boys closer to the door helped. "Ashley!" they shouted, and were answered by a "What?" we expected her to come back, of course, and see what we were shouting about, but when she didn't appear, they called again. This time no response was issued forth. Kenny then philosophically inquired (to the now absent Ashely) "Wherefore doth thou walkest away?" to which Mrs. Satzinger added, in a rather tongue-in-cheek tone, "Ho." There was solid laughter for at least five minutes. It really improved my day. The whole class was like that, and even in the halls it seemed like people were joking around a lot more than usual, and were generally in a good mood.

Sadly, this rosy morning could not endure. When I got to Calculus, I still hadn't done a few of the homework problems because I couldn't remember how. I was asking around when Quiggly called for the sheets to be passed up. I hurriedly looked over my paper to see if I had at least *guessed* on the problems I didn't know, and punched in a few equations on my calculator to make an estimate from the graph. I then hastily circled a few random answers, signed my name at the top, and delivered it to him at the front. He had *just* sat down from putting the rest of the class' papers in a folder, and when I handed mine to him, he looked at me and said "Um, we've already collected this assignment." in shock, I responded, "I just put my name on it..." he assumed a look of resignation and said, "well, this will have to be late" as he took it from me and cast it into a chair behind him. Late. Two point five seconds late. I numbly returned to my desk and indulged an extended fantasy of retribution involving a great deal of screaming, yelling, and generally throwing things all over the Calculus room, culminating in my dramatic exit from the room with a vow never to return. But I mostly sat there and glared at the blank sheet of ruled paper in front of me as he led the class in an example problem, and exercised my revenge by *refusing* to copy down the problem from the screen. That'll show him.

The lunch that followed ten minutes later mostly consisted of me not speaking to anyone, glaring at everyone, and drowing my sorrows in a (burned) baked potato drenched in molten cheese. I chased it with a brownie and felt a little better. I felt a lot better after relating the story to a couple of Calculus comrades, and by fourth block I was chipper enough again.

In fourth block I was once again compared to Phoebe from Friends. Go figure. I've been told that by so many people of so many different types in so many different groups that I suppose it must be true. I am Phoebe. Eh. Fine with me. I love Phoebe.

Now I get to look forward to a night of total vegging out at Hannah's house. Viva la DVD de Two Towers, edition extendable!

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