Eesh... thank heaven it's Thursday. I've had so much homework this week it's ridiculous. Tuesday night I spent five and a half hours on homework. Tonight? 16 paragraph-sized questions on Oedipus Rex, an essay on Heart of Darkness (Joseph Conrad), two worksheets of Bronstead-Lowry acid and base rules, two pages of French vocabulairy (did you know that they have a word, one word, for "a man without arms", and one word for "a man without legs"? It's not the same thing as quadrapeligia, either), a French workbook activity on the Subjonctif passť, and possibly some Government reading thing that'll take an hour or so to do... like usual.
And still I can't complain, since I'm the one who signed up for three college classes at once in my senior year of highschool. It's a good thing I did, or else I'd have to take math! Haha! Instead I get to study what I've always loved (with the exception of Chemistry... that was a bit of a requirement)! Yay! I should see it as a blessing that I have so much homework. There are girls in the world who never even learn to read. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I were illiterate. I can't sleep without reading something first. Otherwise I lay around and think about my life. And my life can be rather depressing sometimes.
And, yes, my dad's still here.
So, instead of crying myself to sleep every night because of the rejection of a parent for a bulemic nutcase (four or five times now) and constant verbal abuse, and sporadic physical abuse, I can sympathise with fictional characters, and pity Gwendolen for not being intelligent enough to avoid Grandcourt at all costs. And then I go to sleep with the knowing roll of the eyes and turn of the mouth that dramatic irony can lend to its readers. O! Gwendolen, how could you not see?
And, reverting for a minute to Oedipus Rex... as I read the play, I never thought I'd sympathise with him so much! Okay, as backup, Oedipus Rex was the man who married his mother and killed his father. I had known that all along, and I didn't care to read the play because I find it revolting (I still do, of course!). But while I was reading it, he seemed fully a victim. I would say that there was no hamartia, and it was his fate (thus it wouldn't be a tragedy) if it weren't for the fact that he killed his father on the streetcorner because they had gotten into a fight (like Grecian roadrage). That was his bane, killing someone, whether or not it was his father. And you have to pity him as you read the story, until you come across that fact. But, here's my greatest grief: if his parents had loved him and preferred his life over theirs, they wouldn't have tried to kill him as a baby. That must be terrible to find... that your parents wanted you dead when you were born... I found out awhile ago that my dad shook me a lot when I was a baby. But, that's not immediate death in some cases. It's not as bad as having a steak driven through my ankles and left for dead on a mountaintop, though, it's still pretty bad.
I've determined that one day I shall follow in the great Frank McCourt's footsteps and write my own autobiography. (Frank McCourt rules!) By then, I'll be hopelessly famous, and everyone will buy it, and it'll be even better than Paris Hilton's autobiography. (Any autobiography is better than her autobiography.) If I write an autobiography, would you buy it and read it?
We're playing a beautiful Tchaikovsky arrangement in orchestra, and we keep butchering it. I think Tchaikovsky is the only thing from Russia I like, besides the architecture. I don't care much for Russian literature, I gave Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy) an attempt, once. It was far to analytical in its approach to thought... and all I read was blah blah blah blah. It gave me the impression that Victorian-era (I only know the European equivalent) Russians just lazed around discussing early extreme socialism and drinking vodka all day. In reality, they currently have the fastest growing amounts of death due to AIDs in the world (even worse than Africa), especially in Siberia. No one has enough of an education in that area of Russia to last as more than a prostitute, and the orphan rates due to AIDs are sky-rocketing, and orphanage abuse rates are even higher. And let's not even discuss the terror of Chernobyl. See what Communism, when stripped away, leaves in its wake? It's a nice idea, to think that everyone can have the same amount of money and same shot at life, but not when that money is too little to live on and the leaders keep it all. Not when dignity is stolen and everyone lives in a disgusting utopia of conformity and soulessness. When a doctor makes the same two dollars as a janitor. It benefited the poorest of the poor only because it made everyone else the same. Give me good ol' representative democracy and Capitalism any day of the week!
Yay for big business!
The title is from a famous autobiography of a girl familiar with extremist socialism-- Anne Frank.