Friday, November 4, 2011

A Detailed Explanation for my Academic Failure

          I’m not really sure how normal people study. I guess some people make flashcards. Other people cram, read out loud, look over their notes, etc. And that’s all fine. But I can’t seem to do that for more than five minutes before I get really horny.
          The only time I can successfully study is when my motivation to be a good student surpasses everything else in my mind.
          You can guess how often that happens.
          What usually ends up happening is that I get my notebook out, I read a little bit, and then I get an overwhelming desire to have sex. Unfortunately when this happens I have no one to screw, so I end up just being incredibly distracted. I’ll be like “An exam is going to happen and I must learn about – Oh, wait. Studying sucks. I could be doing more important things with my time! Like having sex!” and then all I can think about is when the last time I saw an attractive guy was. I don’t see good looking guys very often. It’s sad. It makes my life meaningless. And it doesn’t help me study either.
          Anyway, that’s how I end up writing history essays that start with “The United States was in an economic pickle…” and “Paragraph about Obama:” and then forgetting to take out the stupid (but awesome) stuff I wrote when I was distracted by sex or something else that’s way more awesome than the US government. Which is basically everything.
          In my mind, the meaning of life is happiness. If you’re happy, your life is awesome. Studying just doesn’t make me happy. It makes me think of all the other, more awesome things I could be doing. Sometimes I try to distract myself from my distraction. I think “Maybe if I do something else productive, I’ll feel so responsible that I’ll do real work, become smart and have an awesome future!”
          But, no. Because the way I'm productive is not the way normal people are productive. For me, a day in which I’ve accomplished something is when I have gone to all my classes, understood some stuff and talked to people. A regular day is when I’ve done one or two of those things. And an awesome day is when I did all of that and did something fun with my friends. Maybe I also made a blog post and went the whole day without being sad or confused. Which is kind of never. That’s okay, though. I accept my mediocrity. Even if sometimes I’m not fully awake and I space out, veer off in another direction and walk into a bush.
          And that’s why I suck at making friends. The fact that I’ve completely lost the ability to censor myself doesn’t help me make friends either.
          A few weeks ago I happened to notice a drawing of a guy taking a shower in my Spanish textbook. So I turned to a girl named Lindsey who was sitting near me and I was all “Hey! Look at page 170 in the textbook…The guy showering has a buttcrack! Heehee.” And she was like “Oh. I never would have noticed that. That’s funny.” And then she kind of smiled and I thought “I did it! I made a friend by being myself! I’m awesome!”
          But then when I had that class again a few days later she wasn’t sitting near me anymore.
          In Spanish we sometimes have to do activities where we work with the other students. And on that particular unfortunate day I was working with Lindsey.
          She asked me in Spanish what job I wanted after college. My actual answer, which I’m unsure of for several reasons, is undercover lingual agent for the CIA.
          But I have no idea how to say that in Spanish.
          I panicked.
          So I said “Umm…Playboy?”
          There was a brief pause.
          “Oh. Umm…Playboy?”
          “No. Well…Maybe. I don’t know, I guess. My actual answer is too complicated. You can put Playboy if you want.”
          “Uhh…What’s your actual answer?”
          “Umm…Undercover lingual agent? For the CIA?”
          “Oh. Well, that’s okay. We can look that up. My answer is complicated too.”
And for a moment I thought she understood. But I wasn’t that lucky at all.
          I haven’t talked to her much since then. She now sits very far away from me and hasn’t shown any interest in being my friend.
          But college is still much better than high school. In college, going to the gym is a choice. And if I do go, I am not forced to play volleyball. Because when I play volleyball, I end up giving up on life falling to the ground and pretending to be a rock.
Fuck volleyball.


          That's me on the left. If you're wondering why my hair is completely covering my face it's because rocks don't have faces. Go take geology or something. Culture yourself.

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