et les trois hommes j'admire les la plupart, le P�re, Fils, et le Fant�me Saint, elles ont attrap� le dernier train pour la c�te, le jour o� la musique est mort...

19 November, 2002 || 6:50 pm

I hate the french teacher. She changed groups around, today, and said, "I put you in groups where you'll be more likely to do your best work."

Bullshit.

I was in a group, before, with Lisa P., some Mike kid who actually knew what he was doing (mainly because he's a junior, and failed last year, but with the other french teacher), and Chris R. Chris, let's call him Ass-Boy, shall we? Ass-Boy is the worst kid in the class. He is, in stoopit-person language, a ass. Ass-Boy sat in front of me for the first marking period. I was ready to hurt him, and relieved we'd be changing seats soon. I'm guessing you can all tell where this is going. My new group is Donna S., and Melissa V., (both of whom are complete idiots who wouldn't be able to spell their own name, if someone offered them a million dollars to do so), and yes, you guessed it - Ass-Boy. I am pissed, in a very major way. Last marking period, I did all the work in my group, and Lisa and Mike weren't even incredibly stupid. Mrs. Frenchteacher had a contest on Halloween, between groups, on this ridiculous thing-a-ma-bob. I did all the work. All of it. Every last sentence. My group won.

And that was with only one imbicile in my group. There are three of them, now, still including Ass-Boy, which is just not fair. I'm going to talk to her, tomorrow. Tell her it's not fair to me to put me in that group. She bitches about Ass-Boy on a regualr basis (ie. every goddamn day) so why should I (with the second highest average in the class) have to do his work for him for two marking periods? She'll probably tell me it wuoldn't be "fair" if I were in a group with George (or someone else smart) because we would be too advanced for the other groups and we wouldn't be able to help the othe students. Um, no. Sorry, bitch, you're just off, there. It's not fair to me to be in a group and to be doing all the work. It's not fair to make me teach people who didn't pay attention the first time, when I deserve the time for whatever we're supposed to be doing. It's not my job to teach, it's my job to learn, and I can't learn when I have Ass-Boy swearing about how "gay" this class is, and other people whose complete knowledge of the french language is "je m'appelle..."

The way the damn groups work is that everybody's name goes on the paper, and when she grades it, she completely doesn't take into account that not everybody participated. And if they don't all participate, we get in trouble for not "including" everyone. If one person in the group (ie. me) does all the work, everybody in the group gets credit. However, if she calls on one person from the group to respond, and they don't know the answer, everybody in the group loses credit because we haven't "prepared properly as a group." She always says something like, "Oh, so your group didn't et to that?" and I'm about ready to say, "Um, no, you presumptious bitch, we got to it, except I was the only one paying any attention at all."

If I'm ever a teacher, remind me not to put people in groups. Ever. Ever.

Let's see, what else can I bitch about?

I actually did have some decent quotes, from today, but too depressed to type them. The one in french today was funniest, which bothers me, after my rant just now. Josh - ne touche pas les filles!

My mom had chemotherapy today (as she does every Tuesday) but she had an allergic reaction to the Carboplatin, and they'll probably take her off it, just keep her on the Taxol, which may or may not be a good thing. I guess the body can just reject the drug, once you've had it a few times.

I just want to cry, I hate school, I hate the idiots in it, I hate cancer. I hate knowing I'm going to lose my mother to this disease. I hate knowing that I'm going to have to graduate high school without my mother. I hate knowing that I'll have to live with my father, alone, I hate how distant he is, I hate how if something were to happen to him, I'd be alone alone. I hate crying, I hate being tutted at for feeling depressed, because "I'm not the one with cancer" and "my life's not that hard" and being told to "cheer up" and "stop moping" when I feel like this. I want to crawl into a hole and sleep forever.

Oh, and my parents are going to a movie, Friday (or Saturday, but Friday's better), the Usuals are invited to come, either Punch-Drunk Love or Bowling for Columbine.

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