I hate cutsie forwarded emails.
While I'm at it, I hate having organised religion forced on me, I hate being sent on pointless missions, I hate people assuming I don't go to a lesson because I 'don't feel like it', and I absolutely hate being spoken down to by my statistics teacher when she doesn't teach us the fucking work.
I'm having a bad day. In fact, I'm having a bad week, and it's only Tuesday.
It started on... must have been Sunday. I think I was grumpy Saturday because I had no time to myself all day, what with work and being expected to go out afterwards. No real problem, I think it just made me tired on Sunday.
Monday I had a load of work due in, but I was told that I was going to youth club with Sam and Mandy for some 'thing'. When I get told I'm going to Harold Hill, I expect to stay in Harold Hill. I don't want to go to some Christian youth event. I may be a youth, but I ain't Christian, and don't plan on being so ever again. It was bad enough last time. I lost my religion properly, I don't plan on finding it in some dingy church.
I told everyone that I wanted to go home. They said that now I was there I may as well stay. How about bollocks?
The sum total of it is, I had a shit evening and didn't get home until gone 10. I went straight to bed.
Monday. Statistics. Sadistic. I hate the subject, but I think I hate my teacher even more. She gave us a test the other week, which we all found immensely difficult, and then we got them back to find that she'd marked wrong the basic principles that SHE taught us. She was the one who told us to start at -0.5 on histograms, whatever the situation, she's the one who then proceeded to tell us we were wrong. I told her that she had told us this, she smiled patronisingly and asked me how I could have -0.5mm of a borehole. That would be a lump, but that is not the point. She taught us that, she should stand by her methods or teach us properly. We're going to ask for a new teacher.
I went to my sister's house and had a good old PMT-fuelled cry. I couldn't get in touch with me boyfriend because his phone was missing, which was not helping.
Then I had double physics, to make matters worse. I like physics, I just don't like being taught A-level work off sheets.
Various orchestras then endured, which I only survived by eating lots of chocolate and having a good old bitch with David.
Then this morning, still feeling overly hormonal and sufficiently wretched to warrant throwing a chair through a window, Mancey sent me on the most pointless of errands: tell the upper sixth that they have to sit on the stage. What kind of a stupid message is that?! They'd all already left the out-building, they would know that there would be no room on the balcony, and they would go to the stage because they are not stupid. I walked back to the sixth form block, was told to go back to assembly, locked myself in a toilet and cried. Been doing lots of that recently.
I did not need it, so I went home.
These aren't my only problems, there is another big problem that I don't really want to tell you all, but I was hoping that writing this up would make me realise how trivial it all is. I know this is trivial, two of my friends have parents with cancer, I know someone who gets beaten up by their mum, I know someone locked in a cycle of drugs and stealing, I know someone still trying to come to terms with her brother's suicide. But my major problem is major, so please don't piss me off in the next two weeks until it's sorted, or I may just have to do the chair-window thing for real.
