I used to love school.

No, really. It used to be extremely fun for me. I got to be with teachers I liked, in the classes I found at least somewhat fun, and I got to be around my friends most of the time.

This year? I fucking hate it. Like…a lot. I like none of the courses – except maybe for my theatre – and I like none of the teachers except for MAYBE English. And he’s not even staying the whole year. Dammit. Maybe Mr. Graves, my Theatre teacher, is still awesome, but…that’s about it. My AP teachers…ugh…all I hear is “wah-wah-wah-wah-wahwahwahwah-wa-wah.”
Fuck that.

I don’t like school anymore. I used to be that nerdy girl (well, still am…) who loved to go to school almost every day.
I still look at my progress report and complain about having anything below a ninety-six. The only thing I care about now are my grades, sports, and–

Well, yeah.

That’s it.

Isn’t that freaking sad? I wish I liked it more, but I just can’t.

Now onto the subject of this. Homework. I had a temporary mental breakdown on Sunday just passed because of an overload of work I couldn’t get done in two days. Almost three.

Three days to do homework, and I COULD NOT get it done.

I’m not lazy.

I do my work.


And I couldn’t finish it?

Doesn’t something sound wrong there?

I hate homework, and I hate the amount of work teachers give us on the weekend. It sucks. It really fucking SUCKS. I don’t like having two B’s. B’s are bad for me. I like A’s. A’s are something I love. If I have an A, well, that’s still not enough.

So, you see how that can affect me. It’s why, on Sunday, I cracked under the pressure, I cried, I screamed into my pillow about how I hate my life.

Yeah, I’m used to a lot of work, but I’m not used to not getting that work done.
And I had to take another day to do it. You can’t tell me my teacher doesn’t hate me for getting that one assignment in late.


I hate homework.


I hate school.