Excuse Me While I Rant
Today's post will be a rant against a select few people who've ticked me off recently, so it'll be a longer post than usual and will probably take a rather long time to load, so my apologies beforehand for all inconvenience caused. And now for the recipients of my ill-will, in chronological order.
First of all, Psycho. I've been saving this up since Friday when I found out that he hasn't filled up the attendance register for two months--since the last holidays. As a result, the whole class has been absent as far as the office is concerned. Lovely situation, isn't it? 30-plus students, all ganging up together to defy the school by boycotting all their classes simultaneously. I must say, if he thinks it's his life mission to destroy anything and everything that other people have built up, it's his own call to make. If he wants to sow chaos and reap the consequences, hey, who am I to stand in the way of his destruction?
But the fact is that by becoming the class representative, he assumed the duties of taking care of the class and its members. In fact he's already escaped responsibility for pretty much everything he can, including supervising collection of fees and newspapers. I don't care about those, as long as everything gets done in the end. Poor Gambler, but she gets credit for taking on the responsibilities of that moron.
And the fact is that if he doesn't want to do his duties, he should get out of the way of those people who do want to do theirs. If he thinks others ought to let him be--why then, he should do the same. On the other hand, if he wants somebody breathing down his neck every moment, I'm sure there're plenty of nannies out there ready and willing to take charge of him. If, of course, those nannies happen to be three-quarters demented or desperate. I know I wouldn't want to take care of him even if offered untold riches--and, you know, that's saying a lot.
I think the main reason I got to know him in the first place is that I thought he seemed like an interesting character, always escaping duties and roaring other people down. Unfortunately, he's turned out to be a monomaniac bent on destruction. And the worst thing is that his vocabulary is about the size of my little toenail, and completely condensed into a few strings of meaningless nothings: borderline executable, not a homophobe, and a few others I won't repeat here because I don't want my readers to foam at the mouth with boredom. His cronies seem to think him hilarious, though. Perhaps he touches some Neanderthal sense of humour within them.
The point here is that I wish he would at least try to grow up and stop reminding me of a chimpanzee. You know, as in tall, dark, and completely lacking in self-control. It's a wonder the guy knows how to use the toilet. And if he can't do his duty, he'd better learn how to delegate. Ooh, big word, think he'll understand it?
Next, my room-mate, whose offence took place last night when I was trying to sleep. Well, he probably did it unwittingly, so I'll cut him a little slack, but... it's hard to cut anybody any slack at all when one has a headache.
I was sick yesterday with bad digestion (trust me, you don't want the details if you value your appetite) and a headache. And fever. And all that combined to put me in a rather bad mood when I went to bed last night (granted, I went at 11-plus because I had been out with some friends). Now, one thing I value in anybody is fixed habits. Predictability in motion.
The kind of situation where you can say, "It's eleven, he'll be snoring," or "Seven o'clock, he's bathing now", that kind of thing. I try to cultivate it myself, but haven't succeeded much yet. Anyway, I got to bed at about 11-plus last night and found him reading. He's always reading before bed, so I assumed he'd soon go to sleep.
He didn't. In fact he didn't turn off the main light until 12.35 by a rough estimate, and then it was only to turn on a smaller but equally powerful light until about 2 am. I know because I checked my watch several times in a vain attempt to give him a hint about the lateness of the hour. Of course I realise most people would be able to sleep even in broad daylight, but I'm not most people. I suspect myself of being overly photosensitive, which means that if there's enough light to read by, there's enough light to keep me tossing and turning and unable to sleep.
This is the point where I tell you I get very, very grumpy when I toss and turn and am unable to sleep. Especially since at the time my headache was at its peak activity time and I had somehow got firmly convinced that if I could only go to sleep, the headache would miraculously vanish.
(It hasn't, by the way. I have a headache even as I type. But I bet nobody has noticed.)
If only he wouldn't take the ignore-each-other unwritten rule so seriously and consistently, I bet I'd have had a better sleep this morning. But this is at least partly my own fault, and I won't heap all the blame on him.
And number three, Mr. Eek, who teaches me Applied Math. It's a very basic version of Physics, and is almost childishly simple at times. I never pay attention during his classes, but I've timed my library visits so I always have a paperback to read during then.
It's a good thing I do so, because the old coot has a marvelous habit of writing minuscule characters and wriggle and wave and crawl all over the blackboard like legs on a centipede. More than once I've had to squint to read his writing--those who have seen my writing will know that anything I have to squint at to understand is very bad script indeed. It's a work of abstract art, I tell you.
Sure, he's old and wears glasses thicker than the Mariana Trench is deep, but even so he must have learned how to write neatly by, say, eight years old! (He's at least ten times that by now.) His writing is so small that I believe even ants would need magnifying glasses to read it... or at least wear very high-powered glasses. I do declare that if I can, I shall find a pair of binoculars solely to read his writing with next year.
On the other hand, he probably gets commisions from the opticians and spectacles shops in town.
That's the end of it for now. I have a headache. If I ever recover, I shall put more effort into properly attacking the characters, lineage, and species of the objects of my revulsion.
First of all, Psycho. I've been saving this up since Friday when I found out that he hasn't filled up the attendance register for two months--since the last holidays. As a result, the whole class has been absent as far as the office is concerned. Lovely situation, isn't it? 30-plus students, all ganging up together to defy the school by boycotting all their classes simultaneously. I must say, if he thinks it's his life mission to destroy anything and everything that other people have built up, it's his own call to make. If he wants to sow chaos and reap the consequences, hey, who am I to stand in the way of his destruction?
But the fact is that by becoming the class representative, he assumed the duties of taking care of the class and its members. In fact he's already escaped responsibility for pretty much everything he can, including supervising collection of fees and newspapers. I don't care about those, as long as everything gets done in the end. Poor Gambler, but she gets credit for taking on the responsibilities of that moron.
And the fact is that if he doesn't want to do his duties, he should get out of the way of those people who do want to do theirs. If he thinks others ought to let him be--why then, he should do the same. On the other hand, if he wants somebody breathing down his neck every moment, I'm sure there're plenty of nannies out there ready and willing to take charge of him. If, of course, those nannies happen to be three-quarters demented or desperate. I know I wouldn't want to take care of him even if offered untold riches--and, you know, that's saying a lot.
I think the main reason I got to know him in the first place is that I thought he seemed like an interesting character, always escaping duties and roaring other people down. Unfortunately, he's turned out to be a monomaniac bent on destruction. And the worst thing is that his vocabulary is about the size of my little toenail, and completely condensed into a few strings of meaningless nothings: borderline executable, not a homophobe, and a few others I won't repeat here because I don't want my readers to foam at the mouth with boredom. His cronies seem to think him hilarious, though. Perhaps he touches some Neanderthal sense of humour within them.
The point here is that I wish he would at least try to grow up and stop reminding me of a chimpanzee. You know, as in tall, dark, and completely lacking in self-control. It's a wonder the guy knows how to use the toilet. And if he can't do his duty, he'd better learn how to delegate. Ooh, big word, think he'll understand it?
Next, my room-mate, whose offence took place last night when I was trying to sleep. Well, he probably did it unwittingly, so I'll cut him a little slack, but... it's hard to cut anybody any slack at all when one has a headache.
I was sick yesterday with bad digestion (trust me, you don't want the details if you value your appetite) and a headache. And fever. And all that combined to put me in a rather bad mood when I went to bed last night (granted, I went at 11-plus because I had been out with some friends). Now, one thing I value in anybody is fixed habits. Predictability in motion.
The kind of situation where you can say, "It's eleven, he'll be snoring," or "Seven o'clock, he's bathing now", that kind of thing. I try to cultivate it myself, but haven't succeeded much yet. Anyway, I got to bed at about 11-plus last night and found him reading. He's always reading before bed, so I assumed he'd soon go to sleep.
He didn't. In fact he didn't turn off the main light until 12.35 by a rough estimate, and then it was only to turn on a smaller but equally powerful light until about 2 am. I know because I checked my watch several times in a vain attempt to give him a hint about the lateness of the hour. Of course I realise most people would be able to sleep even in broad daylight, but I'm not most people. I suspect myself of being overly photosensitive, which means that if there's enough light to read by, there's enough light to keep me tossing and turning and unable to sleep.
This is the point where I tell you I get very, very grumpy when I toss and turn and am unable to sleep. Especially since at the time my headache was at its peak activity time and I had somehow got firmly convinced that if I could only go to sleep, the headache would miraculously vanish.
(It hasn't, by the way. I have a headache even as I type. But I bet nobody has noticed.)
If only he wouldn't take the ignore-each-other unwritten rule so seriously and consistently, I bet I'd have had a better sleep this morning. But this is at least partly my own fault, and I won't heap all the blame on him.
And number three, Mr. Eek, who teaches me Applied Math. It's a very basic version of Physics, and is almost childishly simple at times. I never pay attention during his classes, but I've timed my library visits so I always have a paperback to read during then.
It's a good thing I do so, because the old coot has a marvelous habit of writing minuscule characters and wriggle and wave and crawl all over the blackboard like legs on a centipede. More than once I've had to squint to read his writing--those who have seen my writing will know that anything I have to squint at to understand is very bad script indeed. It's a work of abstract art, I tell you.
Sure, he's old and wears glasses thicker than the Mariana Trench is deep, but even so he must have learned how to write neatly by, say, eight years old! (He's at least ten times that by now.) His writing is so small that I believe even ants would need magnifying glasses to read it... or at least wear very high-powered glasses. I do declare that if I can, I shall find a pair of binoculars solely to read his writing with next year.
On the other hand, he probably gets commisions from the opticians and spectacles shops in town.
That's the end of it for now. I have a headache. If I ever recover, I shall put more effort into properly attacking the characters, lineage, and species of the objects of my revulsion.
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