Friends! Yes, you there. Helloooooo. How are you?
What am I saying? Of course you're well.
But are you feeling adventurous?
Check out my other site for a fun new post...
http://theknowitnothing.weebly.com/blog/photo…
Sunday, 10 July 2016
Saturday, 18 June 2016
I think I found my dog's special spot...
You have a pet hate. Don't deny it.
I bet you're thinking about it now. Gee, thanks Jordan.
Maybe it's the way people (or someone in particular, if you're that kind of person) clicks their teeth together. But you CANNOT say it's the old fingernail on the blackboard. We all hate that one.
I have one. You know those knives with the slightly cerated edges? Scraping that up against a fork sends a chill down my spine. It bugs me.
***
Okay, not that either of these is a pet hate, I just had to get them into writing.
THERE IS A CRICKET FARM GROWING AT MY SCHOOL. Also, big tip, even if you don't know if it's a school, pack, herd or farm of crickets, do NOT google image that damn thing.
Anyway, there are seats at school, more like clumps of cement shaped in a ring that the school somehow deemed "creative". There are gaps in between the cement, probably no more than a couple of centimetres thick. Here is where our little harvest of crickets live, crawling up and down the edges.
A girl from my year sat over the crack, unaware of the critters. I didn't tell her anything. We're not friends, not even when a cricket is making its way up her skirt. I am a bad, terrible person.
Bonus: My dog, as you can hopefully recall, is a female dog, approximately 18-20 months old. Loves a good scratch.
Just don't go near the top of her back legs. That's her spot, if you get what I mean.
I bet you're thinking about it now. Gee, thanks Jordan.
Maybe it's the way people (or someone in particular, if you're that kind of person) clicks their teeth together. But you CANNOT say it's the old fingernail on the blackboard. We all hate that one.
I have one. You know those knives with the slightly cerated edges? Scraping that up against a fork sends a chill down my spine. It bugs me.
***
Okay, not that either of these is a pet hate, I just had to get them into writing.
THERE IS A CRICKET FARM GROWING AT MY SCHOOL. Also, big tip, even if you don't know if it's a school, pack, herd or farm of crickets, do NOT google image that damn thing.
Anyway, there are seats at school, more like clumps of cement shaped in a ring that the school somehow deemed "creative". There are gaps in between the cement, probably no more than a couple of centimetres thick. Here is where our little harvest of crickets live, crawling up and down the edges.
A girl from my year sat over the crack, unaware of the critters. I didn't tell her anything. We're not friends, not even when a cricket is making its way up her skirt. I am a bad, terrible person.
Bonus: My dog, as you can hopefully recall, is a female dog, approximately 18-20 months old. Loves a good scratch.
Just don't go near the top of her back legs. That's her spot, if you get what I mean.
Wednesday, 15 June 2016
I haven't posted in so long, I might as well laugh about it...
HELLO.
It's been a while.
Are you feeling nostalgic too? Who am I kidding?! You don't care.
But ahhh, the good times. Before my life was totally crazy and I wasn't coughing myself to sleep. Yes. That was a good time. A very good time.
I suffered a great "huh" moment today. I confessed to my teacher that my essay was probably the worst one I've written this year. But I'm struggling to decide whether I should applaud his witty comeback or close my laptop right now and cry. He replied, with an apologetic smile (which was probably supposed to make me feel better), 'I agree'.
Minute of silence for my extinct dignity. One, two, three... Okay, I'm not going to count it for you.
Maybe today is a judge-y kind of day. You're most likely going to start judging me right now.
I'm an awkward laugher. No, I don't mean my laugh itself is awkward, although my best friend would probably present an hour long argument against that statement. I just laugh in the most awkward of moments. This blog is about spilling the beans anonymously...except for those three friends I have that read this silly thing. So I'm going to be honest. I laughed for an hour consistently after watching my grandmother climb onto a ferry in Italy. And I even have to fight the giggles during a minute silence at school - which, of course, is HIGHLY disrespectful and I hate myself for it.
Whenever I'm not supposed to laugh... You guessed right: I laugh.
What's even better? I go so red my forehead actually starts sweating. There is no way I can hide. Absolutely no corner for me to crawl into.
Well, that was a good thing to say.
In case you have no idea who I am, now you do. I'm that kid on the street who's always red in the face.
It's been a while.
Are you feeling nostalgic too? Who am I kidding?! You don't care.
But ahhh, the good times. Before my life was totally crazy and I wasn't coughing myself to sleep. Yes. That was a good time. A very good time.
I suffered a great "huh" moment today. I confessed to my teacher that my essay was probably the worst one I've written this year. But I'm struggling to decide whether I should applaud his witty comeback or close my laptop right now and cry. He replied, with an apologetic smile (which was probably supposed to make me feel better), 'I agree'.
Minute of silence for my extinct dignity. One, two, three... Okay, I'm not going to count it for you.
Maybe today is a judge-y kind of day. You're most likely going to start judging me right now.
I'm an awkward laugher. No, I don't mean my laugh itself is awkward, although my best friend would probably present an hour long argument against that statement. I just laugh in the most awkward of moments. This blog is about spilling the beans anonymously...except for those three friends I have that read this silly thing. So I'm going to be honest. I laughed for an hour consistently after watching my grandmother climb onto a ferry in Italy. And I even have to fight the giggles during a minute silence at school - which, of course, is HIGHLY disrespectful and I hate myself for it.
Whenever I'm not supposed to laugh... You guessed right: I laugh.
What's even better? I go so red my forehead actually starts sweating. There is no way I can hide. Absolutely no corner for me to crawl into.
Well, that was a good thing to say.
In case you have no idea who I am, now you do. I'm that kid on the street who's always red in the face.
Monday, 23 May 2016
10 things every high school student knows or does...
We're a lazy species. Practically sloths. Am I going to deny it? Please. Not even if you begged.
But, in my absolutely mind-changing, world-evolving, spit-out-your-cereal-amazing opinion, we're pretty darn smart:
- Ask friends how much they've worked on the assignment to be comforted by how little we've actually done.
- Arrive home and start eating, using the biological necessity for nutrients as an excuse to spend 20 minutes checking our social media branches.
- Rule up the next ten pages in our workbook during class, claiming our "future-self" will thank us and understand that we didn't waste five minutes for no reason.
- Indulge in small amounts of bread and potato the night before and morning of a school day so we don't feel guilty when we can't help but buy a bruschetta from the canteen.
- Tell dumb people we have too much work and that we're finding it a struggle to succeed - they think we're brilliant anyway and the compliment boosts that drooping self-esteem.
- One hour of study, 20 minute break, one hour of study, 10 minute break, one hour...our parents' favourite TV show suddenly makes us wonder why it isn't our fav series too. This is particularly depressing when Antiques Roadshow decides to sabotage our study flow.
- Teachers are people. The second we ask about them and their life, they will fall in love with us. No, I know what you're thinking - not in that weird, illegal way.
- There is nothing a massive gossip, junk food fest, laughing session or dancing won't fix. Come on, now. I know I'm not the only one that does this... home alone. No shame whatsoever.
- Everything, everything seems so much WORSE if you haven't started.
- Rewards are the pot of gold at the end - did I have a tough day? Yes: cookie time. Did I just smash that test? Probably not: still eats cookie.
Saturday, 21 May 2016
The things you wish other couples at school would do...
To all those people in love out there - good on you. You've found the one and I wish you luck.
The only thing I can do is hope you're not as bad as some couples. I have eyes, they work perfectly well, and I can see. Even when I don't want to.
When I'm scrolling through social media, do I want to see pictures of you making out? Pictures that you probably took ten times just to get the right angle? No. These photographs are depressing (if this was your intention, however, keep going - it's working). All I really want to see are pictures of people eating pizza at home, on the couch, on a Friday night. They're super comforting.
Do society a favour and take a step away from them. Notice your warm breath isn't immediately trapped by their shirt. It's called distance. For the rest of us, it's called relief. Take one for the team.
God almighty, if you have a free/free period/unscheduled lesson, just study. Don't decide to follow your boy/girlfriend around to all their classes. Just knowing you're in the back of the class, probably venturing places under the table (which, by the way, is totally inappropriate. And yes, this actually happened in one of my classes), is sickening enough.
My teacher once said, 'Leave room for Jesus'. If that didn't make you laugh, I'm sorry. It certainly made me laugh at the time. I smiled just writing it.
PLEASE keep your moody emotions to yourself. The whole school does not need to know you're going through a "rough patch". Keep your head up, wipe away the tears.
- Okay, I realised that last one makes me seem a little harsh. I feel for you, I really do. Not so much I'm going to come up and hug you (sorry). But maybe I'll ask you if you're doing alright in the toilet. (If that sentence is slightly ambiguous, I mean I'd ask how you're doing whilst we're both situated in the girls bathroom, not actually ask how your experience on the toilet is going.)
You probably read that correct in the first place. Now you're just judging me for even thinking of asking about you on the toilet...
WELCOME TO MY BLOG
IF YOU'RE LUCKY, I MIGHT ASK YOU ABOUT TOILET EXPERIENCES.
If you have any funny stories, though, I'm always ready for a laugh.
The only thing I can do is hope you're not as bad as some couples. I have eyes, they work perfectly well, and I can see. Even when I don't want to.
When I'm scrolling through social media, do I want to see pictures of you making out? Pictures that you probably took ten times just to get the right angle? No. These photographs are depressing (if this was your intention, however, keep going - it's working). All I really want to see are pictures of people eating pizza at home, on the couch, on a Friday night. They're super comforting.
Do society a favour and take a step away from them. Notice your warm breath isn't immediately trapped by their shirt. It's called distance. For the rest of us, it's called relief. Take one for the team.
God almighty, if you have a free/free period/unscheduled lesson, just study. Don't decide to follow your boy/girlfriend around to all their classes. Just knowing you're in the back of the class, probably venturing places under the table (which, by the way, is totally inappropriate. And yes, this actually happened in one of my classes), is sickening enough.
My teacher once said, 'Leave room for Jesus'. If that didn't make you laugh, I'm sorry. It certainly made me laugh at the time. I smiled just writing it.
PLEASE keep your moody emotions to yourself. The whole school does not need to know you're going through a "rough patch". Keep your head up, wipe away the tears.
- Okay, I realised that last one makes me seem a little harsh. I feel for you, I really do. Not so much I'm going to come up and hug you (sorry). But maybe I'll ask you if you're doing alright in the toilet. (If that sentence is slightly ambiguous, I mean I'd ask how you're doing whilst we're both situated in the girls bathroom, not actually ask how your experience on the toilet is going.)
You probably read that correct in the first place. Now you're just judging me for even thinking of asking about you on the toilet...
WELCOME TO MY BLOG
IF YOU'RE LUCKY, I MIGHT ASK YOU ABOUT TOILET EXPERIENCES.
If you have any funny stories, though, I'm always ready for a laugh.
Thursday, 19 May 2016
You're a perfectionist too? Okay, no, it's obviously just me...
I'm a writer. Maybe that's obvious. Maybe it's not. Maybe you're thinking: this girl has no idea how to form sentences. Right you are!
You know when you love something so much, you try extremely hard to be great at at, as if to not let yourself down? To not suck at the one thing you're super passionate about?
(snorts) Clearly that's just me. Hush now, Jordan. Shhhh.
But seriously. Concentrate. This. Is. Me. In. English. And it is bloody tiring. I write, I edit, I ask questions, I keep asking questions and even when I hand up assignments I'm still second-guessing myself. I think of all the little things I should have changed, all the sentences that were perhaps unclear. YOU DO THE SAME?
Nope, still just me.
I ask so many questions I'm fairly sure my teacher gets annoyed the second my hand lifts off the table, my palm flattens and I raise my arm in the air. Alarms blare in the back of his mind, old and fizzled cabaret lights warning him of my brewing query. He groans internally. The acid churns in his stomach, bubbling up his insides so he can taste bile.
'Do you think this makes sense?' I ask.
So now I have a new problem, probably one you can relate more to: I have started a blog post with no direction. Raise your hand if you're bored.
*Jordan raises her hand*
Raise your hand if reading this was a total waste of time.
*Jordan unwillingly raises her hand* (writing it was painful)
But, you know what, I just attempted my new maths investigation. I needed a break. I deserved a break. This is it. I am a social one. An uninteresting one too, as you might be discovering. Maybe this is my shield. Maybe I am truly a party animal. Maybe you'll never know.
I'll probably never know either with all this "school".
You know when you love something so much, you try extremely hard to be great at at, as if to not let yourself down? To not suck at the one thing you're super passionate about?
(snorts) Clearly that's just me. Hush now, Jordan. Shhhh.
But seriously. Concentrate. This. Is. Me. In. English. And it is bloody tiring. I write, I edit, I ask questions, I keep asking questions and even when I hand up assignments I'm still second-guessing myself. I think of all the little things I should have changed, all the sentences that were perhaps unclear. YOU DO THE SAME?
Nope, still just me.
I ask so many questions I'm fairly sure my teacher gets annoyed the second my hand lifts off the table, my palm flattens and I raise my arm in the air. Alarms blare in the back of his mind, old and fizzled cabaret lights warning him of my brewing query. He groans internally. The acid churns in his stomach, bubbling up his insides so he can taste bile.
'Do you think this makes sense?' I ask.
So now I have a new problem, probably one you can relate more to: I have started a blog post with no direction. Raise your hand if you're bored.
*Jordan raises her hand*
Raise your hand if reading this was a total waste of time.
*Jordan unwillingly raises her hand* (writing it was painful)
But, you know what, I just attempted my new maths investigation. I needed a break. I deserved a break. This is it. I am a social one. An uninteresting one too, as you might be discovering. Maybe this is my shield. Maybe I am truly a party animal. Maybe you'll never know.
I'll probably never know either with all this "school".
Tuesday, 17 May 2016
Blogger is lovely, but sometimes I have to grind my teeth...
This is a formal but somehow the least formal post I have/will ever write...
Get ready.
I hereby apologise for the random font changes in my posts. I have tried ever so desperately to get them to the right font, but I have learnt my lesson: I will, from this point on, write all posts directly onto Blogger.
My OCD is making me want to scream.
You have a good day.
Get ready.
I hereby apologise for the random font changes in my posts. I have tried ever so desperately to get them to the right font, but I have learnt my lesson: I will, from this point on, write all posts directly onto Blogger.
My OCD is making me want to scream.
You have a good day.
There is nothing better than being exactly on the word count...
Okay, so maybe I suck at this blog thing.
- Oh, I'm sorry?! Have you done year twelve before? (pauses) That's what I thought. It's not exactly a hobby people develop.
However! I don't give a toss. Well, maybe I do. Maybe the fact that I have no time to spare actually freaking sucks.
Maybe you wish you hadn't clicked on this page in the first place. I've done that before. Start reading, get bored, click that red button in the corner... Don't feel bad if you do. No shame.
Wow, get a load of this self promotion.
***
If you're a student, hopefully you can relate to my awesomely, gloriously thrilled mood: ***I just got my English essay down to 1000 words*** Delivering the feels right there. No kidding. There I was, scrolling through and looking for things to delete completely... and a little 1000 pops up at the bottom of my page. 'Word Count: 1000' has never looked so damn fine. DAY-UM.
Actually, I tell a lie. Trust me to get ahead of myself.
Wait for it. Just wait. Seriously, stop being impatient.
Jordan's worst word count dilemma ever? I was initially 2000 words over for a component of my research project. I wouldn't recommend it. On that note, I wouldn't recommend research project either.
(groans)
Do not even ask.
At least research project made one thing clear: I'm not about to spend my life conducting interviews, "action research" or writing reports for research studies I've fantastically accomplished. No, this does not mean I am any closer to making my decision about the uni course I will apply for. Now you're getting ahead of yourself.
Maybe I'll win the lottery. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
- Oh, I'm sorry?! Have you done year twelve before? (pauses) That's what I thought. It's not exactly a hobby people develop.
However! I don't give a toss. Well, maybe I do. Maybe the fact that I have no time to spare actually freaking sucks.
Maybe you wish you hadn't clicked on this page in the first place. I've done that before. Start reading, get bored, click that red button in the corner... Don't feel bad if you do. No shame.
Wow, get a load of this self promotion.
***
If you're a student, hopefully you can relate to my awesomely, gloriously thrilled mood: ***I just got my English essay down to 1000 words*** Delivering the feels right there. No kidding. There I was, scrolling through and looking for things to delete completely... and a little 1000 pops up at the bottom of my page. 'Word Count: 1000' has never looked so damn fine. DAY-UM.
Actually, I tell a lie. Trust me to get ahead of myself.
Wait for it. Just wait. Seriously, stop being impatient.
Jordan's worst word count dilemma ever? I was initially 2000 words over for a component of my research project. I wouldn't recommend it. On that note, I wouldn't recommend research project either.
(groans)
Do not even ask.
At least research project made one thing clear: I'm not about to spend my life conducting interviews, "action research" or writing reports for research studies I've fantastically accomplished. No, this does not mean I am any closer to making my decision about the uni course I will apply for. Now you're getting ahead of yourself.
Maybe I'll win the lottery. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.
Five minutes smiling and my face was already hurting...
I'll admit: formal is not for everyone. There are those that dress nicely, attend the evening, have a few laughs and pile the food high on their plates. They swing their feet to the beat of the music and strum their fingers on the tables, waiting for the speeches to just end. They smile, pretend to love everyone's outfit and maybe even snap a few selfies to promote their ability to be "social" on snapchat.
Well.
This was not me.
Definitely not.
I love everything that is spontaneous e.g. going out for lunch with my best friend on the last day of term, checking out the Law Courts with her out of pure curiosity and making a poor but surprisingly super fun unpublished YouTube channel that revealed that while she can place and name most members of my family (aunties and uncles included), I don't even know the name of her first cat.
BUT. Formal is planned. Boy, every single minute of that night is drafted, edited and then finalised. And did I enjoy myself? You can bet your bottom dollar I did! Did my feet absolutely kill? Absolutely. Did it draw away from my fun? Please.
Yes, I did attend the after party. Yes, it was loud. Yes, the lights wouldn't have been so good for someone with epilepsy.
YES, I HAD THE BEST TIME. For all those party virgins out there like me, here is my advice:
STAY. You don't have to drink to have a good time (when in doubt, imagine me with my water). You don't have to be embarrassed about how good/bad you're dancing - people are too drunk to remember. You can make new best friends for the night with people you've never talked to that will probably forget you exist the moment they wake up the next day (or, in my case, later that same day).
But the best piece of advice for the whole night? Get ready. This advice is pure gold. It wouldn't be dumb to expect it engraved into my tombstone:
Wear flats to after party.
Well.
This was not me.
Definitely not.
I love everything that is spontaneous e.g. going out for lunch with my best friend on the last day of term, checking out the Law Courts with her out of pure curiosity and making a poor but surprisingly super fun unpublished YouTube channel that revealed that while she can place and name most members of my family (aunties and uncles included), I don't even know the name of her first cat.
BUT. Formal is planned. Boy, every single minute of that night is drafted, edited and then finalised. And did I enjoy myself? You can bet your bottom dollar I did! Did my feet absolutely kill? Absolutely. Did it draw away from my fun? Please.
Yes, I did attend the after party. Yes, it was loud. Yes, the lights wouldn't have been so good for someone with epilepsy.
YES, I HAD THE BEST TIME. For all those party virgins out there like me, here is my advice:
STAY. You don't have to drink to have a good time (when in doubt, imagine me with my water). You don't have to be embarrassed about how good/bad you're dancing - people are too drunk to remember. You can make new best friends for the night with people you've never talked to that will probably forget you exist the moment they wake up the next day (or, in my case, later that same day).
But the best piece of advice for the whole night? Get ready. This advice is pure gold. It wouldn't be dumb to expect it engraved into my tombstone:
Wear flats to after party.
Never play 'Would You Rather' including people from your friendship group...
Coming from someone who knows the struggles of being a music student, Sports Day is one of the biggest NON-EVENTS of the year - especially as a year twelve that should be focusing more on celebrating the fact that I DID NOT CRY DURING OR AFTER MY MATHS TEST.
My school told the year twelves to dress up in our house colours. So, naturally, in the spirit of "senior year", I wore school PE shorts and my school jumper. I even wore my hair down, just to emphasise my lack of participation in all events. Does cheering on other people count? Doubt it.
Question To Self: Then why was my body so tired when I got home? (insert emoji with confused expression)
***
Now, listen up. Or should I say "read up"?. Feel free to leave after that cringeworthy wink-wink moment.
We've all had those absolutely, stupendously fantastic ideas where you decide to play a game to figure out if someone does have/has ever had a crush on you. You're a fool if you've convinced yourself that has never popped up in your mind. But, if you seriously have never considered the 'Would You Rather' or 'Truth or Dare' hacks, WELCOME to the 12-18 year old female human brain.
First of all, stop right there. Seriously, literally stop moving. No - YES, YOU!
These games never work and, even if they do, you might end up finding out something you really didn't want to (virtually high-fiving everyone that has ever developed fake feelings for someone after finding out that person liked them).
Second of all...
Actually...
I don't have a second point to make. 'First of all' was a bit pointless then, wasn't it?
My school told the year twelves to dress up in our house colours. So, naturally, in the spirit of "senior year", I wore school PE shorts and my school jumper. I even wore my hair down, just to emphasise my lack of participation in all events. Does cheering on other people count? Doubt it.
Question To Self: Then why was my body so tired when I got home? (insert emoji with confused expression)
***
Now, listen up. Or should I say "read up"?. Feel free to leave after that cringeworthy wink-wink moment.
We've all had those absolutely, stupendously fantastic ideas where you decide to play a game to figure out if someone does have/has ever had a crush on you. You're a fool if you've convinced yourself that has never popped up in your mind. But, if you seriously have never considered the 'Would You Rather' or 'Truth or Dare' hacks, WELCOME to the 12-18 year old female human brain.
First of all, stop right there. Seriously, literally stop moving. No - YES, YOU!
These games never work and, even if they do, you might end up finding out something you really didn't want to (virtually high-fiving everyone that has ever developed fake feelings for someone after finding out that person liked them).
Second of all...
Actually...
I don't have a second point to make. 'First of all' was a bit pointless then, wasn't it?
Steps to represent how much I pretend to know how to live right...
If there was a book of instructions to life, I would have it on my bookshelf - bookmarked, doggy-eared, sticky notes sticking out at all angles and writing all down the margins (much like the work of art that is my English novel).
But there is no guide to living which, I guess, contributes to the fun bit where we, as individuals, have to figure it out for ourselves. I'm trying. I truly am.
So, what do I do in order to survive?
But there is no guide to living which, I guess, contributes to the fun bit where we, as individuals, have to figure it out for ourselves. I'm trying. I truly am.
So, what do I do in order to survive?
- Don't stay in the same country. Duh.
- Always document holidays.
- Never picked fresh fruit? I'm ashamed.
- Put the phones down and pick the books up.
- Never forget to save funny memes.
- Limit myself to one piece of cake? Please.
- Note to self: family will never let you down.
- No filter is better than a filter turning brown eyes to blue.
- Speak a second language (which should be a necessity).
- Never try to draw or paint. I just can't.
- Lighting candles can be romantic, but is totally unsafe.
- Something I've learnt: ugly selfies are better than fake laughing for model shots.
- Feel bad for taking breaks during study? Pfft, I don't care!
- Bread is full of carbs? Sorry, what did you say? My hearing is a bit off today.
- I'm never afraid to sing and dance when I'm home alone. (Talking to my dog is also acceptable)
- Set goals. Make lists. Write a blog about setting goals and writing lists.
- Walk, don't run. I see so much more.
- Suck in my tummy (it's just like doing sit-ups).
- Laugh, because it's an even better workout.
- Wear sunglasses on my head to save a bad-hair day.
- In a bad mood? Cuddles with dogs cure all.
- Pencil over pen.
- Have 50+ photos in my bedroom to promote happiness.
- NEVER throw away old birthday cards.
- Beach walk to start to the day (the best/only way).
- Clean bed sheets regularly (keeps the nightmares away).
- Stop bothering with nail polish.
- Go camping - it's always better than a hotel.
- Realise that people in books will always seem to have a better life than me.
- Always drive with music on (and no, I don't care if people are staring at me at the traffic lights).
- Never overlook my friends.
Choosing a degree is scarier than memorising my biology notes...
The future.
I've had enough of trying to decide what to do. Let's just get that time machine rolling so I can jump forward to ruin the surprise. (Let's also take a look at future technology so I can recreate it and beat the inventors to the chase. That may or may not be plagiarism. Such big, impressive dreams of mine.)
Back to this ugly topic.
***
"Find the derivative of the function and hence determine when the function is increasing and decreasing. State the coordinates of all stationary points."
"Find the derivative of the function and hence determine when the function is increasing and decreasing. State the coordinates of all stationary points."
(snorts) Will this maths question help me in anyway with taxes, shares or managing money in the future? Unlikely. Should have chosen Maths Applications. Shoulda, coulda, woulda!
***
In the senior study centre at school there is The Shelf. It is worse than all the homework scribbled throughout the pages of my ripped/folded/mistreated but actually awesome diary*. Stacked upon The Shelf are brochures and brochures of university information: the courses, the entry requirements, why you should go to one university over another...
*Tip One: Make lists! Not because they're overly important, but it's a killer feeling when you get to cross things off (especially multiple things simultaneously...especially maths...especially a career you now know you don't want to have)
If no one else is going to say it, I will: Stuff you, uni! Seriously, a bunch of formally structured paragraphs describing all the different courses (using posh words I will never understand) is not any more helpful with a bunch of students fake smiling on the cover, holding books related to subjects they probably don't even study.* Maybe that's a bit harsh... (guilty grin)
Plus, the entry requirements (aka ATAR score) are extremely intimidating. Let's just cover those with a sticky note (with a hand-drawn smiley face).
But come on. Reading all these course descriptions is not going to tell me whether or not I will enjoy a degree. Gosh, who knows? I'll probably hate it!
*Tip Two: Study in the Library. Helps prevent gaze drifting towards The Shelf and resultant stomach ache.
My best friend's aiming for Veterinary Science - I could do that. Sure, I like animals. I have a dog.
Another one of my friends is going back home to Canada to study - not sure I could do all my studies in Canada. But would definitely investigate an exchange.
My mum studied music and then became a teacher - doubt I could put up with that many kids on a daily basis (really hoping that will change if I ever choose to have children).
I could study law. Yes! I can see myself standing up for others. Pity there are ZERO jobs.
Or I could always go into a trade. Plumbing would be a blast.
Maybe I'm overthinking it. Maybe I'm doubting myself too much. Maybe I'm being too negative. Probably. Not a complete surprise.
Tip Three: Be more positive.
Tip Four: Write better tips.
Tip Five: Avoid tips altogether.
Tip Six: Stop talking about the future. Get back to work and focus on The Now (if that's not the name of a movie yet, I call dibs).
My 2016 ID photo hasn't changed since last year's...
This is Year 12. The year when everything has to be perfect. The year when a Year 11 is shaped into an adult, ready to face the world. The year when all of a sudden, without any warning and barely any guidance, a 17/18 year old faces the question (approximately a million times):
What would you like to do after school?
Um, shut up? Go ask someone who knows.
Fairly sure I'd rather curl up and struggle through the rest of my maths homework listening to sad love songs than deciding whether I want to be:
Which shines a spotlight on how much I truly hate thinking about the future, especially since I avoid it by doing maths. Perhaps I should write that again, let it sink in. I do maths to stop thinking about the year after 2016. Scary.
What would you like to do after school?
Um, shut up? Go ask someone who knows.
Fairly sure I'd rather curl up and struggle through the rest of my maths homework listening to sad love songs than deciding whether I want to be:
There's a certain beauty in being able to know exactly what you want. If that is you, PLEASE LEAVE. This is a formal warning. No, stay. Really. I'm just jealous. Tell me how you do it. People tell me it's smart to keep your options open, precisely why I chose English, Maths, Chemistry, Biology (and, last year, French) as my Year 12 subjects. But that concept died and fossilised under a rock fifty-thousand years ago.
I know one thing: I do not, or will ever, want to become an Engineer. Eughaaahugh.
Sorry, Engineers.
Sorry, not sorry. I just really don't like maths. It's Term 1, 2016 and it's taking me a half an hour to finish 6 questions (yes, I timed myself). Half an hour is a long time in total misery.
So I can cross maths off the list.
Chemistry. Everything is just so small, tiny little molecules that make up everything around us. Great! Just not for me.
Biology + English = LOVE
Biology + English (as a job) = poor scientist with killer narrative writing skills. See the issue? And now they want me to pick an occupation?!?! I've been in school for the past 12 years, people. Pfft, let's all just calm down a notch.
I know one thing: I do not, or will ever, want to become an Engineer. Eughaaahugh.
Sorry, Engineers.
Sorry, not sorry. I just really don't like maths. It's Term 1, 2016 and it's taking me a half an hour to finish 6 questions (yes, I timed myself). Half an hour is a long time in total misery.
So I can cross maths off the list.
Chemistry. Everything is just so small, tiny little molecules that make up everything around us. Great! Just not for me.
Biology + English = LOVE
Biology + English (as a job) = poor scientist with killer narrative writing skills. See the issue? And now they want me to pick an occupation?!?! I've been in school for the past 12 years, people. Pfft, let's all just calm down a notch.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)