My life is a dark, scary, swirling black mass of pain, humiliation, and numbers at the moment.
Note to self: taking a math class in the summer is not, in fact, any better than taking one during the year. It may actually be worse. Cramming twelve weeks of material into four is one of the A. most absurd and B. least mathematically sound, things I have ever heard of. Would you like to know how this works? How the administration managed this feat of time condensing sadism? It goes like this...
You have class for four weeks. Three days a week. Three hours a day. Three hours. Let that sink in. One hundred and eighty minuets. Ten thousand eight-hundred seconds. Too. Freaking. Long.
Three straight hours of math has had an interesting effect on my brain. Some days it feels like pudding, others like molten lead, and yet others like a hyper saturated sponge, unable to absorb anything.
If only this situation were even a third as funny as I’m trying to make it seem.
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