That title was not grammatically correct. If you are troubled by this, fuck off, you have no right to be here.
So. This weekend, I am going to take a math placement test.
It shall tell me if I'm a complete idiot, partial idiot, or genius. Those are the only categories offered. And according to my current math teacher, I will be attempting to reach out from the depths of complete idiot hood into the dim fluorescent lighting of the partials.
She has faith in me though.
So it's not all bad.
She truly believes I have the potential to become more than the category in her mind labeled "FUCKING STUPID."
But anyway, I, like the other numerous lemmings, will make my way into a large, desk-filled room, which will smell like lemon pledge and and have a gray carpet.
We will sit, and I will take out my ridiculous bright pink calculator, and then I will have a mental breakdown because I KNOW NOTHING.
Then, in a frantic haze of half-remembered formulas, I will attempt to solve one problem.
Then time will be up.
Also, I don't know what genius decided to make me take a math test about math I learned last year, but they should not be working with children if they do not understand the concept of the Summer Atrophy of the Brain.
This was a mild attempt to pour all my stress out onto you, dear reader.
That is all.
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