*we put the "mmm" in communism


This is the personal blog of Tim. Here, Tim writes on anything he has enough inspiration to finish a post on. That usually ends up being matters of science, pop culture, technology, religion, and philosophy.

This blog is around nine years old, which is over a third of Tim's current age. Back in 2003, it was called "Of Tim: Tim's life - or lack thereof", and it was as bad as you might expect the blog of a freshman in high school to be. Tim hopes that his writing is a little better, these days.

Tim welcomes any input that you, the dear reader, might have. Comments are very much appreciated, especially if you have a dissenting opinion. If you'd like to learn more about Tim, you might want to see his facebook or google+.

Also: Tim is a very avid consumer of various sorts of music. You may be interested in his playlists!

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For the Irony
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No, really. It's irony this time. No dead squirrels, no metal, it's 100% irony that I present to you tonight.

As per the standard of recent days, I sit staring off into space yet again during Physics class. Ms. Lynn is talking about something, I don't remember what, probably something to do with work and power. My ears perk up as she says, "So, I graded your tests.". My heart sinks, I slouch on my stool, and stare at the featureless bench, minus the writing "YOUR MOM", authored by yours truly. She makes her way around the class handing out the tests. Lo and behold, even with 14 points of curve, I still take a 64. Ben manages to get a glance at my test before I shove it in with my numerous notes that I've taken throughout the course of the class. He gives me a woeful look and pats my shoulder. It means a lot.

I take a swift look at Matt's test. Identical to Ben's, he receives an 88 (after 4 points of curve). I look through the test for a few seconds, understand everything I did wrong, and try to look like I'm doing something productive with the nauseating paper, littered with red ink. I realize I'm tearing up, so I start taking longer breaths. It's not working. I stare at the computer sitting next to me. There's nothing interesting about it. I desperately look for something to focus on besides the damned test. I sniff, and to my dismay it's audible. I glance at the clock just as the bell rings for our 5 minute break.

I follow the normal routine and sit with Ben and Matt as they talk to Julia and Ana. Karel strolls over in his merry gait, and asks how I did on the test. I couldn't laugh about it this time. Hell, I couldn't even speak. I managed to whisper that I got a 50. He says it's just a test. I knew. I know. It doesn't make it hurt less. As my self-control is just about to break and a drop rolls out of my eye, I pretend to scratch my eyes, and pretty briskly walk out of the room, unfortunately not as stealthily as I had hoped, attracting the concerned inquiry of Matt. I jog to the bathroom down the hall. It's empty, thank heavens, and I give myself 5 seconds before going back into class. I sit back at my bench with a minute of our break still left, and attempt to look like I'm doing something. Within another minute, I've got my grin back on and manage to stay that way for the rest of the day.

Fast forward, I'm at Acoustifest. I wasn't there for the music. Chasing after a girl I couldn't even figure out how to talk to, that's what I was there for. After an hour of bad music and general nothing, I finally get the chance to talk. Nothing comes out. I see Sho and go jump on her lap, and we talk for a while, and things are jovial for the few minutes I'm with her. I stroll back over to the girl, and I get nervous, I can't figure out what to say. Way to go.

She says we need to talk. I'm nice, she was confused, we should be friends. I agreed. I sit with Sho again for a couple minutes. Lacking the desire to do anything, I walk out of the Lost Dog, and run the 2 miles (1.4 discounting the slope, equivelant to around 1.75, round it off) in 10 minutes. I open the door to my room to find that nobody has bothered to let Jen out of my room, and there are 200 tootsie rolls on the floor, my headphones have been shredded, my bed covers have been removed, and a present has been left for me near the opposite door.

I clean it all up, and when all is said and done, I'm nauseated. I want to sleep, and it's only 11:00. I find things to fill my head with for another 5 hours. I talk to Daniel. It helps. I talk to Amy. It helps. The excessive talking makes my head feel empty, so I sit down and play a game for a few hours. Still restless, I watch a few episodes of Arrested Development. Still not wanting to sleep, I manage to put in a few hours before Jonathan appears around 6 AM to watch some movie. I get a few more restless hours and lose the will to rest around 11 AM.

I was disinclined from writing any of this for the sake of not appearing emo. But honestly, expressing emotion is not emo. Whining is. Complaining, ungratefulness, ignorance, that's emo. There's a time and a place for everything.

Two (2) things should be clear here. If I see any comments apologizing for this, any comments remotely suggesting pity, I will delete them. I did not write this to receive your pity. I do not want your pity. Do not give it to me. Secondly, because I know someone will mention the fact that there were two (2) objectionable words in here, I should mention that there are times in which I can find no other word fitting to express the given emotion. I rarely swear, so as not to deprive the severity of the word for when the situation calls for it. I will not mention this again in future posts; remember it.

God's given me exactly what I need. I've got good friends who are looking out for me - given what's going on (and there is more than what you read here), that's exactly what I need.
posted by MC Froehlich at

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