Dear Teachers I had for the past thirteen years of my education,
I hate you.
It’s nothing personal, really. It’s just that your lessons and the retarded way you teach them make me want to jump off a cliff. And this is not an unpopular opinion, mind you. If you really look into it, I’m not the only kid who does not bother to pay the minimal ounce of my attention into listening to your boring three-hour-long lectures. Hardly anyone does, to be honest.
But unlike most students, your existence particularly bothers me, and your boring, endless, lifeless, inexplicably hard, mind-numbing lectures give me an overwhelming desire to shoot myself in the head or claw out my own eyes and stir around at my hurting brain cells with my fingers.
If I ever was a teacher and I was sat at your chair behind your pretty desk and my students looked that miserable, my god, I would hang myself with my favorite tie when I get home because fuck me I’m a big fat failure. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it, how you just sit there and go on and on and on about some obscure point that no one gives a shit about without flinching when someone loudly asks his friend what time it is or when someone turns the page and huffs as loudly as they can to showcase just how excruciating hard it is to be sitting there against their will. You have some patience my friend. You have no care in the world. You have no soul and no respect for yourself and no passion toward your job. What even is the point of your life? It really grinds my gears. I want you dead.
Anyway, phew, I think I’m done ranting here. I feel like now that I got that off my chest I can move on with my life.
But don’t you ever think I’m the type that ‘forgives and forgets’. I’m more of a ‘what goes around finally comes around’.