I bombed a math quiz today. I mean, actually bombed. As in I think I got a zero. Guess it's time to go re-read the sections and redo the homework.
I wrote a poem recently about how progress is deceptive because it doesn't feel like progress. It feels like plodding along. But I was mostly just trying to convince myself. I don't think I really believe it.
I keep thinking to myself, "you've got a year or two to really excel. If you can't manage that, you'll be an average person. Forever." I have difficulty ascertaining whether or not my level of stress or ambition, for that matter, is appropriate.
Something I accidentally wrote on the bus ride home:
I never know why we put up with each other. The mystery of your flared temper or my sudden detachment. But we keep blowing along, buoyed by unseen currents and dancing in dwindling circles. I sometimes wish, might I cut the chase and stand in the center? But we are opposed magnets in a small room, unable to meet each other, unable to rest.
Hell with it. Here's some good sad bastard music just because.