Dear Math Homework:
I hate you.
Seriously, why do you exist? I feel sad inside every time I have to write out 50 problems that I could care less about in hopes that I will be able to make an “A” in this class. It’s kind of rude to make me solve all your problems. Take them to someone who actually cares about you. Like a math major.
I know that you just want me to be smart and all, but sometimes I get the feeling that you are just waiting for me to fail. Granted, you are a text book, but you know what I mean. I wish we could just be friends. Friends don’t want to see each other fail.
Now, I know I could have avoided the stress of it being almost midnight the night before a quiz by studying this weekend, but I am still a free spirited teenager. I feel the need to go have pancakes with my friends. I just had to see Fiddler on the Roof and watch Walking Dead right after. I mean, I had to WORK. I need a paycheck, Math! I have a life to live, but you want me to sit with you and work out everything on your pages. So here I sit, 11:32pm, with you staring at me, reminding me that I have class at 8am.
I am writing this to tell you that I am sad that we can’t be friends. I hope that we can tolerate each other for the next year and a half while I finish my AA. I promise I won’t burn your pages as long as you don’t melt my brain.
A Procrastinating Art Major