Dualities

So I landed a 95 in the accounting-11-course-of-summer-school-that-I-decided-to-take-despite-the-fact-that-it-was-completely-unnecessary, so I’m pretty happy with that. I’d like to think I’ve redeemed myself for the previous mark I had achieved in this course a few years back, of which came as a result of my skipping the entire second half of the year (I.. honestly didn’t feel like going, especially since the teacher was a complete (fill in the blank)itch to me for having stood up for myself and others in the class for her arrogance).

Want to know the mark I had previously? Not only was it laughable; it was utterly guffaw-able, and in all honesty, I totally wouldn’t blame you for committing said heinous act of guffawing. And so, without further ado, my previous accounting 11 mark was at a fairly respectable

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9. 

It’s a figure that sits on the high end of the single-digit spectrum, so I think that’s a little bit to be proud of. My new mark is almost a 1000% increase from the previous one, so as you can imagine, I rode the subway home happy. 

Well.. mostly anyway. I mean the beginning of the ride back was pretty chill, considering I was with a friend and all. But then we parted and went our separate ways, and I had to take the Sheppard subway back to Bayview. I got onto the subway train and stood near the door, leaning on one of the two sides. The train was empty—that is, until this strange, large lady boarded the subway and stood opposite of me, occupying the other side. Now I’m normally not one to judge, but the reason I found this lady so strange is because she kept smiling at me—the entire time. I mean not only was it a smile, it was one of those ear-to-ear glare/smile hybrids. So as the doors chimed to a close, I knew I was in for a very very very uncomfortable ride. There was just so much pressure.. all concentrated on my face. For the duration of the ride (it felt like forever omg), I had to use all of my willpower to stop myself from seeing the smile, for fear of exploding. And even at the end of the ride, she followed me. It wasn’t until I began running up two flights of stairs that she stopped. Now I realize you may be thinking that it was probably just a coincidence, but I swear—I know she tried following me. Like.. she got off the train first, and she made for the escalators while I made for the stairs. She suddenly stopped, turned around to look for me, and then decided to make for the stairs as well. She even increased her pace to catch up to me. I almost pooped my panties

.. Buuuut yeah, sorry for digressing to this extent, but I guess you’ve just partially experienced a day in the life of Kyle. Hopefully it wasn’t too painful for you

I think it’s pretty cool to see the magnitude at which different contexts can influence our perspectives. For example, on a beautiful, sunny day, the birds’ melodies can very easily create a wonderful feeling of euphoria that further adds to my already amazing day. But in a setting where it’s 5:00 AM, I’m sleep-deprived, hungry, unkempt, and consequently irritable,

THOSE BIRDS CAN GO DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEELDNSKCBSLDJSK.

Lmao but no, I’m generally a very gentle person, and I’d already be pretty satisfied if all birds simply decided to move to Antarctica. ^_^

.. Well if anything at all, I hope you found some humour in my suffering

A group of middle-schoolers boarded the bus and sat behind me. They were a soccer team, so you can guess they all had big egos and attitudes. We then happened to pass by a boy who was crippled.

“Ha ha ha! Look at the crippled kid!”

“Ha ha oh my god he looks retarded!” 

Assholes.

If it seemed like I didn’t make too many friends in middle school, this was likely the reason. I understand that they probably wouldn’t say these kinds of things alone, so I’m sure they’re not all assholes. But it’s kind of depressing how weak people can be, to conform just to fit in. To an extent, conforming is okay; but I think the line resides where one’s attempt to “fit in” comes at an expense to others.

And in this instance, I feel guilt. Maybe it’s because I’ve been afraid to be the vexing part of anyone’s life. This is why I always keep a little distance between me and other people. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m reluctant to reply, or if I seem uninterested, because it really isn’t like that. It’s just that whenever I receive a reply that exudes a lesser amount of happiness or enthusiasm than it usually does, I feel as though I may be naught but another bothersome kid. Really though, when I talk to people, even over the internet, or over the phone, I’m pretty much always smiling or laughing or simply content. I like a great deal of the people I meet, really. I suppose I just have to learn that I can’t always sense emotions through words and voices.

So I went over to my mom’s room today to ask for math help, since she’s amazingly amazing (and I suck at math). After teaching me a little, I asked her what was wrong, since I could tell she was stressed about something. Apparently, some people at her pharmacy (my former friend’s parents, apparently) kept asking for “fresh” medicine, despite the fact that there was already plenty in stock. As a result, my mom has to order new meds for them every single damn time, and it’s causing heart problems for her. Imagine if every patient asked for the same thing. It would be chaos, and medicine would be wasted. And honestly, who the fuck asks for “fresh” medicine? You’re not buying groceries, motherfucker. Anything that creates stress for my mom to deal with should die. IwanttodropkickalltheseinconsideratedumbassesinthefacebutI’mtooniceforthat. 

.. But yeah, that wasn’t what I really wanted to talk about.

So I sat there in her room just now, thinking/talking/reminiscing with her for maybe two hours. I was listening, listening to her thoughts and opinions, her experiences, her memories of my childhood and how cute I was, everything. I tried my best to help her relax, and I gave her advice on how to handle stress and anxiety, since I consider it something I’ve learned to deal with (perhaps too well). I found it enjoyable. I feel sad for the parents out there who eventually lose their kids to other people, forgotten. How often do you have those talks with your parents about anything? Yeah, we all say “I love my parents”, but are you sure they know that too? For me, I just want my parents to feel relevant, and that they still have yet to go awry in raising me.