Heh, you want a specific rant instead of the same general, meaningless complaints? You got it!
Well, today in English apparently Mr. Ross didn't want to do anything very productive. Not that I blame him, but his choice of an "alternative" wasn't exactly what I'd call "pleasant." First off, the activity was rather flawed because I felt like he focused too much on individuals (me) and not enough on everyone else. Now, I'm not bitter about the "spotlight." It's fine, I can handle it (Ellen smiling really helped, though; I was in panic mode). I suppose he called on me first because he had mistaken me for some acting person. I didn't know there were that many emaciated wretches out there; someone ought to feed them more. Anywho, first question was "What are you passionate about?" Well, being a Romantic-Nihilist, the only thing that comes out of the tolerable mean is a way to keep the average alive. When it fluctates in either way, I just can't function properly. Of course, that wasn't good enough for Mr. Ross. Apparently it's a part of my "personality." One of the benefits to such extensive self-introspection is that I'm rather familiar with my ways and manners. And Nirvana help me if I try to make my paltry existence tolerable instead of constantly maneuvering between opposite sides that somehow both manage to convince me I was as well kill myself. The thought occurs entirely too many times, but it passes much more frequently than it used to. Progress. The sort of progress that apparently shouldn't exist because my fickle emotions and philosophies are a part of my nature. No, my wayward preferences are due to the whole "opposite spectrum philosophies" thing, and, of course, the omnipresent fact that I simply don't care. When you don't care about so many things to a significant extent, you find that changing your mind about it really isn't that hard. Bleh.
Then he asks me what are my "hobbies." "Dyl old man," I think to myself, "your only hobby is self-denial and stress. That's not acceptable. You don't really spend much time doing anything that can be labelled with something like a 'name' or 'purpose.' I know, I'll say 'writing'!" Of course, then it occurs to me that I'm ashamed to call myself a writer because in some way it debases the entire profession. Anyway, I really had nothing else to say, so that was it. I immediately felt bad. Poor me. He asks me if I read. Of course I don't read! At my stage it's blatant escapism, and I don't want to steal ideas. For some reason, me not reading other people means I can't plagarize. That's one character for my novel-ish thing: the writer who never reads. You can imagine the parodies that ensue.
He then asks me what I dislike. So, of course, I say "sadism." It defiles both parties, especially physical torment, and you can't prevent it. It's a horrible but all too frequent motivator. But that's not good enough. It sounds too "idealistic." What does he want, "Republicans", "hippies", "Jews"? It's like he held me in contempt for not being truthful, even though I was being honest. What else could I do? It's not possible to despise ideas and behaviors instead of behav...yees?
Meh, I don't really care. It just annoys me when people have presumptive attitudes. I'll take constructive criticism, (it'd be nice if you people would try it sometime), but when you say it with the idea that you are right and no one else can be...
Other classes, beginning to become less frightening. In calculus my brain wouldn't work for the life of me. Better study I guess.
But... it's not entirely grim. We'll see. Goodnight!
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