On Measurements.

Hey.  I'm being a whiny little piece of shit about this, and if you don't want to read it, I understand.  I barely even want to read it.  For serious.
Click, if you must.

Art History.  It's at ten.  I woke up first at 8:20 or so, which is a reasonable time to ride the bus to Kendall and get to class on time and be very happy with all that.  I, of course, went back to sleep.  I woke up again at 9:10.  This is a reasonable time to hurry out of the house, drive to Kendall, and make it to class on time.  I told myself "one more minute" and then I went back to sleep, for longer than a minute.  I woke up again at 9:47.  This is a reasonable time to hurry out of the house, drive too fast, and still be late for class.  I scurried about, trying to get my things together, hoping that I could make it without being too late.  And then, I stopped.  I'm not sure why.  I just...didn't go any more.
I guess I skipped class.
I've skipped class, deliberately said "Eh, fuck it, I'm not going." one other time in my life.  It was at the end of last school year.  Psychology with Kalzynski.  First block.  I'll always call them blocks, no matter if they do away with block scheduling.  I was reared on that method, ninety minutes of Earth Science or Dance or APUSH, the switch never was absorbed, only artificially worn on top of my skin.  I was late to class, by a matter of seconds, but I knew I would get a detention for it anyway.  You don't get detention for skipping class.  The teacher was that kind of a person, letting some people sit in the back of the class and discuss how drunk they were last weekend and giving other people detention for being five seconds late.  Ben always showed up late too, maybe more often than I did.  I wonder how many detentions he got.  I went upstairs, saw that the door was shut, then paused, turned around, and went to the art room.  Mrs. Harbar's room, not the other one who replaced Mr. Boyer.  She asked me where I was supposed to be, and decided not to kick me out.  I sat around, talking to people who were fooling around with bits of wire.  They told me that I needed safety glasses, I put them on, and fiddled with beads and broken bits of jewelry for the whole block.
It was a lot better than psychology.

Maybe I can reign it in, concentrate all the bad feeling I have on this week and feel fantastic by the time Sunday rolls around.  I have a lot of homework, actually.  I had some sort of plan, that I would do all my 3D homework on Friday, all my Drafting on Saturday, and all my Design Drawing on Sunday.  I'd study Art History a little bit every night.  We have a test coming up at some point.  My professor isn't nearly as engaging as the one I had last semester, he just sort of shows slides and talks about them and the artists, instead of showing slides and blowing people's minds apart.

I'm doing fine.  I'm a reasonably okay student, I never missed a homework assignment last semester and I'm on track to do the same this semester.  I've never failed a class.  The lowest grade I've gotten

I need to grow up a little, stop caring what other people thing, stop worrying about all of it.
I'm not going to do that anytime soon.  I need petty little things to absorb myself in, otherwise I get consumed by the weight of the universe.  It'll crush me, I know it.  If I care about grades or homework or the size of my pants, I won't have time to consider the fact that one day, none of this will matter.  One day, no one will remember me, or anyone that I knew, or anything that I did.  In its own twisted way, it's comforting to know that none of this really matters.  I can concern myself with it now, but in the end, we're all going to die, no matter how many showtunes we learn.

I like school, most of the time.  Really, I do.  I just feel like I'm not doing as much as I could/should be, and that I'm failing because of that.  If I wasn't in school, I wouldn't have numbers to measure my personal worth by, and I would go crazy because of it.

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