Recently, I have been waking up from a recurring nightmare. It harkens back to the dark days of my childhood. Specifically it’s this haunting image of the fifth grade. The fifth grade was already a particularly dark time for me. My teacher was an elderly obese bitch named Mrs. West who wore an eyepatch. I’m not kidding. It almost ruined pirates for me a little. One time she made me clean up another student’s blood off a chair because of a blind accusation from a shit-head in my class named Ryan. I don’t remember his last name but if I did I would probably link to his loser facebook profile right here and you could see what kind of an idiot he is.
Anyway, this is about one particular traumatic event. What is waking me up with cold sweats and the the sensation that my entire decision making process has been sullied comes down to math class. You know, 5th grade math where you learn the same shit you learned in 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade again? That math class. One day in that class everything began south. I will forever bear the burden of learning what it means to be confused and unconfident that day.