J'en ai marre.

Hey everyone,

My deepest of all apologies to go to the few individuals whose lives are obviously fraught with some sort of monotony and thus in accordance with the existence of such monotony have been anticipating another blog post. I don't mean to degrade what readers I happen to have, but I personally find my own blog such an atrocious waste of interwebs-space that I'm more or less inclined to be concerned for those who read it. Unfortunately the contents of this blog are probably going to increase in expressive, incoherent, borderline-emo ramblings in lieu of the previous intellectual, ridiculously verbose (and turgid, we can't possibly forget turgid) material that inhibited it. I'll let you evaluate for yourself, using whatever marking system you so happen to choose.

On the topic of marking systems, please for the love of global warming do not get me started. Having commenced VCE in the thicket of o-weeks and booze nights (this provides people with ample material with which to blackmail me), I can already say that the hitlist that is gradually accumulating victims in my mind has the creator of the VCE relishing first place. Why? Well, why not? VCE has an unfortuitous ability to strip people of their personalities, not to mention reasons to live, and throw them in an environment full of hardcore (for want of a better term) studying. And contrary to my "village nerd" status - which I'd like to reject idealistically - I HATE STUDYING. Especially if I could be using the time in which I read countless Revs books and complain about the detriments of daily life to see Nick, who is currently living it up at TAFE. "Vicious envy" just doesn't match how I'm feeling; it just does not suffice at all.

On average, I have been fathoming about 2-3 hours of homework a night, along with getting up at 7:30 on Saturday mornings to squeeze in some work before my day with Nick (Saturdays for the win) and the entirety of Sundays. All of this effort is for a potential ENTER score of 98 and an Arts Degree at Melbourne, failing that some sort of Arts/Journalism double degree at a tertiary institution which like all universities, will feature an informal description of being "high school with booze and cafes". I began to deliberate the necessity in aiming so high, but as soon as it dawned on me that a good job = munitary benefits, I stopped doubting myself. Munitary benefits consequently results in a house in the expensive suburb of your choice (although at the rate of the economic crisis, this is bound to include Frankston eventually), private school-educated offspring who will attend schools across the globe and attend plays about politics on weekends (in an attempt to make them ridiculously posh and worldly) and of course, material assets. As a Gen-Yer, and one who ironically strives to be the anthesis of one at that, how could one possibly go wrong?

This won't stop me from hating the VCE.

Au Revoir.