For the note. In case you are just a tidbit stupid and can't seem to understand
that I was not typing this in sience, I wasn't. Typing, I mean. I did that when I got home, okay?
Now, on with it.
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There's a point in every person's life where boredom can't even begin to describe their situation. Where the clock purposely shuts down and giggles in the most annoying manner at how desperate you are for that precious beautiful moment when the time you can finally leave your seat of glue has at last arrived. It never seems to come, does it. That really gets me ticked. I mean, really. If there's one thing I hate more than having to do nothing on my own free will, is when I have to sit and do nothing by force. Because there's nothing else to do and you've made sure of that fact at least fourteen times. It makes me want to take an AK47 and start blowing everything that I see to tiny itty bitlets. But, once you realize that option won't work due to the fact that you don't have a gun or notice that you have a heart and a little something come to be known as a consionce, you (like me) will probably decide to pass the long lonely hours by sighing, fiddling, wiggling your feet back and forth, or my own personal favorite, obserivng. Sure, you increase your boredom by reminding yourself of what fun you could be having instead of doing nothing and convincing yourself that's all there is, but either way, you're bored beyond proper reasoning.
I tend to be in those situations a lot. I'm in one right now as I sit in sience, writing this chapter of my somewhat wonderfully lived life. I can't even shudder because I declare that having too much fun in my life and that's not allowed as we sit and wait for the unit test to be over. Time is slowly being pulled along by a previously dragged lack of entertainment. Normally, I'd have fun in sience. I'm always preoccupied, usually with some lab. It's a very enjoyable class. But when you sit on a curving piece of plastic for what feels like four hours, you're as bored as you would be in math class (note: this is basically indicating that there are few classes that are fun. just in case you didn't know...) That's enough to kill. The boredom of math beats all other annoyingly tiring events that take place.
Anyways, I do all of the above options, hoping that time will go by a little titch faster, which it doesn't, and patiently sit. Oh look, two ways to find amusement. Sitting and fiddling. That tops off baseball and reading man. Though, the thought ran into my head like something on a something during Easter Friday and I realized that I was allowed to write. So that's how you're reading this. A brief summary is; I was allowed to write in sience class and decided to write a chapter of my life story.
Counting down, fifteen minnutes. Oh, it's moving. The clock is moving. I can't believe it, only, I'm too bored to do anything about it but let my heart stop and attempt to control my panicked breathing. (note: I tend to breathe really quickly a lot.) That's when the thought hits me that none of these things actually help. Killing myself may get me out of the situation, but what good will it do if I'm dead? Goll, I can be an idiot sometimes. Uh, yeah, sometimes...
So, at this point, if you haven't guessed, I'm tearing myself apart into tiny twit-sized pieces. Hurry my dear clock, hurry. 'Deep breath in Charlotte,' I think in my rotting mind (where else would I think it?), 'Just fiftee-' My thoughts are cut off as a gaze up at the clock again.
Ten minutes...time has graciously given me a quickly passed five minutes. I can't begin to describe how pounding the boredom of sitting in this bloody chair surrounding by a skematic desk is, though I've previously made that point. I guess that's all you can do when you're at an abnormal lack of intrest in what you're doing. Holy eff, why does time go so slow? I hate every implosionistic excuse for a minute or second or whatever the flick is passing me by like a piece of paper caught in my frickin' fingers. I'm twitching with the pain.
The clock at this point is even bored at laughing at me and has decided to leave me alone. I smirk at my somewhat victory, feeling my mind slowly dissolve into insanity. May the world never have to be in one of these situations...ever.
Five minutes. Panic and anxiety are now officially allowed. It's the seconds to the New Year. It's the months till Christmas. It's the bloody countdown until the end of the world. 'Make frickin' haste' is being repeated until my mind causes it to be a jumble of absolutely nothing. No wait, I lied. It's more one of the unsuccessfully made pancakes. You know, when you're flipping it and it turns into a ball of mush because you forgot to spray the pan. I hate that almost as much as the Yankees. Don't make me say hell's name again.
Just a few seceonds and 'boom, titiching' I'm out of here. I don't care if I'm going to american history next. Just get me out of this crap-pile. Can't take the test's silence anymore. Gotta leave.
BEEEEEEEEEP. Holy eff on flamatic toads. The bell was flippin deafening as I got out of my seat, retrieved all my tids of school stuff that isn't important enough to be named and left the classroom, ready to fall asleep. Groan, smudge, shoot me. I never want to be good at sience again. If I hadn't known the answers, I could've done the test until the very end. Oh frickin' well. It's over now. Oh crap, american history...