why i love history...

i forgot school was about learning. i split my math class between the hope of a new watch as christmas loomed, and vaugely attempting to call my thoughts back to the classroom, and the board in front of me. i became happy as the sceene changed to history. here i could think to myself with out my better half reminding myself that i would miss something, there was very simply nothing to mis. with out thinking, i took out a paper and began writing. if only i could do as such forever, my soul is content when writing, there is always something to say, however relevant or not.

by the way, im joyful to not have to face the teacher's ramps of yet another year. if i look at the bright side, this really is my last year, although thats all i know for sure about my future. in theory i should really stop caring, i should use it to my advantage and know that i would leave soon, so i could do exactly as i pleased and then leave. however, zambia has the one thing in common with death that when your body leaves, your memory remains. and how people remember you for some reason matters to me.

i scan my suroundings to ensure that as last year, my theory of not missing anything during history holds. I am, as the only person, not listening to tales of my teachers life and recent experiences during the summer am for some reason praised for being studious, sitting there with my pen and paper, writing this blog. this is why i love history.

okay, although i am missing nothing, i should stop now... clever is sexy,, definatly. and i dont like people thinking im not clever, because i am, an therefore i shall stop writing blogs in class.

observation: teacher, loking more like a happy-faced, well-fed baby than a person who got through university and beyond (honestly, i respect that, university is tough), swinging his arms and laughing with a wide set mouth saying: "every single day we will have homework". fuck...

apparently, our homework over the summer was to aquire the skill of comprehanding incomprihensiple styles of cursive handwritings.... why the fuck cant our so talented teachers not bother to aquire the simple skill of a normal hand writing. ?.. oh well, actually i dont really care...

the rest of the lesson than passed with me forgetting where india was, (that actually is quite rare for me...) wondering why people keep wearing ugly shoes, and the teacher recomending indian resturants... i think i just found a new favorite subject. =D