reach through the wasteland

29 May

Perfect
has always seemed to me to be a pompous word. I mean, not just because of the meaning associated with the letters, but just the way the word looks makes me think of some higher-up looking down their nose at me. I can’t stand that word. I can’t stand being compared to that word, and I don’t ever want to be called it.
Because, first of all, no one is perfect. Go on. Find someone you think is perfect, and in their weakest hour ask them if they think so too. I’ll wait.
Said no, right? Right. That’s because (and I know this sounds like common sense, and it should) people define perfection differently. I have noticed this even from a young age, when something I thought was the pinnacle of existence was promptly smooshed by my dad, who (to be fair) was only playing and didn’t see what I saw in my sand castles. I like sand castles.
Reason I’m bringing this up is ‘cos of my upcoming college applications, and the stress and pressure to write the “perfect” essay and get “perfect” scores and “perfectly” do out all the paperwork and augh it makes me sick. Firstly, how the fuck does one write the perfect essay? How the fuck does one write something that appeals to all people, sells themselves nice and concisely, and will be printed in SAT prep books until eternity? IT DOES NOT HAPPEN.
Another thing that bugs me is the subject matter of them: all detailing the most wonderful parts of the writer’s life, telling about how they coach small children or ride horses or all that cal. I read a “How To Write Essays” sheet that prompted a paper on your vacation that detailed the stuff you brought and didn’t need.
WHAT THE FUCK.
It just makes me angry to know that somewhere some kid is writing that essay, and filling it full of cal that he thought would work, and getting into college on a piece-‘o’-crap essay about stuff he left behind. Of course, it could be well written and all, good job, but STILL.
Everything about this ridiculous system isn’t really based on how intelligent you are, it’s a measure of how good you are at selling yourself to a corporation. That’s why I get so pissed off whenever Jamesey starts babbling on about “you have to beat the system” or somesuch. It disgusts me. It makes me sick to my stomach.

Well in other news I am still sore and achey and fucking lonely but that will pass and I have to study for my exams which I have to do perfectly on, oh there’s that word again, but I am probably not and so my parents will beat my sorry hide.
At least I have France and the promise of light to look forward to.
Willwritelater.

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