I can’t deal with people asking me for my notes or to study with me so they can pretty much use me for my notes.
This one guy keeps asking me and I keep trying to dodge it. In high school, there were so many times where people used me for my notes or homework or study guides and I generally didn’t say no to anyone. But now I’m all “Dude. I went to these classes. I took these notes. I cared. You didn’t. If your work shows poor performance it is probably a reflection of poor participation and involvement. And I’m not to blame for that.”
Sure, it’s as easy as sending an email. Copy. Paste. Send. Right? But then it becomes “Can you help me with this paper?” or “Can I borrow $50?” or “id onrtewkl owh wherrrrrrrrri am. Helppppmkpe????” (aka drunk texts asking for some help). Like, I like working alone. I like studying alone. I like writing alone. I like making things on my own. I take care of my shit on on my own. I rarely ask for people to help me. My brother would go running to my dad asking questions about his English papers or his accounting homework. I just did what I had to do, no questions or requests asked.
I mean, I’m a generally helpful person. But this is what I’m passionate about and if you plan on loafing around I have no sympathy for you.
So what if I draw naked women in my calculus notes during class?
End Of The World As We Know It
My phone’s notepad has no more room left in it. I can’t write notes.
DEVISTATION!
I rely so much on being able to type whatever random things come to my mind into my phone’s notepad. It is so important for me to write these little thoughts and blurbs before I forget them because I really do like to save everything. I’m a pack-rat, not just with objects but with my thoughts and ideas. If I think of something interesting or fun or a song that I want I have to write it down. I’ve no where to do that now that my phone memory is full.
I really need a new phone. Mine is so temperamental (but then again, I’ve had it for almost 4 years) and it turns off sporadically and half the keys don’t work and it’s a wonder that I can even text anymore. That thing in a tank, I’ll admit; nothing can kill it. NOTHING.
Post-it #5
This broken promise feels more like the Seventh Seal being broken.
