School

So school.

Class equals pointless stories, demonstrating to older people things I’ve known for several years now.

Not that it’s not fun, sometimes, to do what I like to do without any responsibility to readers or repercussions that would deal direct blows to my livelihood. It’s like playing a game.

Except that, like playing Zelda on Nintendo 64, it’s a waste of my time.

Well. I take that back. I like to meet my profs and get to know them, to the extent permitted in academia. It’s good to have a collection of adults who respect you for you, and who you respect in return for who they are and what they’ve done.

It’s just sad the only way they get to know you is for you to spew on their desks.

I leave you today with this quote from one of my favorite books, Walden. I’m not exactly in Thoreau’s boat, but he does a damn good job at communicating his feelings, eh?

I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell me anything to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am sure to reflect that this my Mentors said nothing about.

Thoreau

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