Exams. Or the art of boiling our brains 'till they come out of our ears

Exams, the well-known roaring monster punctually making appointments with students at Christmas and in June. Possible side effects include: stress, compulsive eating, lack of sleep, shortening of the nails due to biting them, 'je-m'en-foutisme', breakdowns and burnouts.

Yes, you, the adults of this world, you are poisoning the children you pretend to care so much about. I wish you would find another system to evaluate our capacities. Have open conversations and debates about the viewed subjects, for example, with small groups of students. Have them teach a lesson. Have them write an essay. Most importantly, have them choosing which method is the best for them. If they want to do a plain traditional exam, fine, if they want to write an essay, fine, if they want to do a presentation, fine. You'll never have someone at his/her full capacity if it's to do something that person doesn't like. Yes, this spawns from personal experience, but I'm almost sure it could be taken as a general truth.

I tend to be one of the lucky ones, being rather confident with a pen and all kinds of knowledge. So I was relatively safe until this year. Because here comes the cause of all my nightmares: Oral Exams. The very much feared thing dances through my mind, all written in capitals.

You might tell me there's nothing to fear, and that teachers are rarely into cannibalism. Tell that to my guts. I would very much like them not to try to spill out of my mouth at every oral exercise, or every word spoken above the 'very very quiet' voice level. Said guts trying to crawl their way up your throat to get out also cause shortness of breath, stuttering, and a crimson coloring of the cheeks. Plus of course the lasting impact of a psychological trauma.

Yes, dear teachers, you're killing us. So if one day your schools are empty, your homeworks not given in and your tests left unscathed, know that we're all having an acute case of examinitis. You might want to keep your distance. It's extremely contagious.

These ARE The Days Of Our Lives...

Aren't there days where you want to throw everything against a wall and follow suit, hitting your head against it as well until you pass out and sleep 'till the day is over?

Probably not.

I get those days all. The. Bloody. Time. It's at these moments I wonder why I do not have any more girl friends, with whom I could spend hours on the phone, complaining about my life and lamenting the misery of this world.
If I were in my normal state, I would merely roll my eyes at such a comment.

But that's the thing, isn't it? I'm not in my normal state. I do not whine in my normal state.

I have noticed that I use the internet extensively to whine about things. And I know I'm not the only one. But you might ask me why I'm only online to whine, and not to scream out loud when I'm happy.

I guess it's because I regard happiness as something too intimate to post it online, whereas frustration, irritation and sadness merit to be tossed out to the world. They're doing no good inside of you anyway.

But going about this way won't get anyone to like you, off-or online. I don't like whining friends either, and even if I have a respectable amount of self-control, it takes an impressive toll on me to have to listen to those friends.

The whole story starts out with the assumption that these persons are indeed my friends, something which is an unproven fact.

But I'll whine on later. Have a good day/afternoon/evening/night. If you read on till here, you have my utmost respect. Hope you didn't die of boredom. If you did, you're welcome to insult me in a comment.


Babeluda.

Hullo...

... and welcome to the worst coloured blog in the universe. Good thing I'll be the only reader.

Anyway, we (or rather, I) are here to discuss the antics of my day-to-day world. Don't worry about those highly philosophical 'entrevues' cluttering up your (I'm sure) terribly busy schedule; as I have no life, there's not much to be said about it, let alone to discuss.

Because I'm already running out of ideas after this very first paragraph, this will also be a very boring blog. With a very boring view of the world by an even more boring teenager. Who has no life. Yes, I'm going to have loads of fun. You, on the other hand... might wanna stop reading.