I remember the first time I had sex like it was yesterday. It wasn’t yesterday, of course, but rather back when I was just barely 17. I had messed around before, but the first time I actually had sex was then, in my studio on that blue, blue carpet and those stupid bear sheets that I loved so much. She was a marvelous creature. A little pudgy, but marvelous nonetheless. She had long, dirty blond hair and she was about my height. Beautiful breasts, pale skin, cute little glasses and a breath-taking smile. She a little shy but very willing. I was wearing (or rather, she was removing) my Chester Cheetah shirt, gloriously endorsing cheetos in a flash of bright orange. She had a white blouse. She was 19, which would technically make it hebophilia, but legally allow it since it was consensual and I was over 16. Such a nice, sweet girl. Whatever was she doing with me?
January 2010
Math never was my strong subject. Elementary school was an embarrassment as I struggled with the simplest of arithmetic. In middle school I must have taken pre-algebra two or three times. I, being young, resented my tutors and their drills every day after school and on the weekends. No respite for the weak at math! Alas, one cannot go through life living on language alone! Or so it seemed, anyway.
I met some interesting people when I furthered my math career, though. One such person in particular stood above the rest. As a man raised in Catholic school who learned by being beaten half to death by nuns, he was well-aware of what it took to make children of our age learn. He put us through drills and used a stern voice on us. In his class, no matter how hard you tried not to, you learned your algebra (and, later on in life, algebra2, after you survived his twin brother in geometry). If you got feeling sleepy in his class, you went to the back of the room, stood up and faced the board the rest of the class. If you couldn’t take notes, it was too bad. If you talked too much, you came after school to write “Silence Is Golden” 20, 50, 100, 200 times even, depending on how often he had to tell you to shut up. Memory was key in his class and the way to get memory was to write and write and write until you couldn’t move your little hands anymore. His was possibly the best-run class in the entire school. In his class you learned skills that would help you in far more than algebra. We went beyond maths in his class. In between his FOIL and square roots we learned about life and throughout the year we learned important life skills. We faced some ridicule every now and then, but he was a fair teacher and he did have a sense of humor. It was a lot of work and he could be strict, but it was a good class. Young as I was my first year with him, I don’t think I fully appreciated it. I don’t think I really realized how lenient he was on me, either.
My first year with him began with me in the front row. I worked at my drills and learned in his class what my tutors had not been able to really get across to me. Three years of trying to teach me math had failed them, but just a few days of his class and I was at the same level as everyone else. It felt good to be equal. Of course, I was never really “equal” in every way, but someone alerted the teacher to the outward discrimination I faced in class and the perpetrator was taken out to the hall, dealt with and sent back into the class trying to hide his shame. I think that was the first time I began to suspect maybe I wasn’t so alone as I thought.
My first and second year run together quite a bit, for they were both in the same room with the same teacher, despite the varying degrees of algebra and the trigonometry between them. I remember a lot of being a back-of-the-class-fast-asleep student. Why was I never told to stand up in the back of the class? I wasn’t the most quiet student once I found my voice. Why didn’t I ever come after to write “silence is golden”? Instead, I came after school for help. I came to learn. What I did not learn in my sleep during class, I filled in for by coming after school to get help from the best damn math teacher I ever had. Even long after all that, I still came to him for help studying for PSSA’s, considering I completely failed the math section the first time (mostly because instead of doing the open-ended questions I drew cats). I had always wondered why he had been so lenient on me and so willing to work with me. At the time I think I believed it was because of my disability. Now I wonder if it was my willingness to learn and to give up my time to come re-take quizzes and get some real help that made him so willing to teach me and make allowances. For all I know, maybe it was both. Maybe it was one that turned into another. I don’t really think I can ever be certain. Perhaps he just liked me. I could be the ever-rare student that does horribly in class but is still one of those the teacher actually likes. Well, I think that’d be pretty cool, because I liked him, too.
Extravagance is when I try to make up for my insecurities.
Lust is when I look upon a handsome form and want unguardedly.
Gluttony is when I indulge in whatever falls into my web.
Greed is when I want more even than what I have and want it all to myself.
Acedia is when I stop caring about you when I don’t need you or see something I prefer.
Despair is when I look around and realize that although I sometimes feel I have everything, I do not have what I truly want.
Sloth is when I take the easy way out rather than try to do things that will produce a good outcome.
Wrath is when I become upset with you for reminding me of the games I play and the strings I pull.
Envy is when I see others living life as a pair and having nothing to worry about and wish it was me.
Pride is when I boast about what I have and what I can do.
Vainglory is when I boast about what I have and what I can do when I know I do not have what I want and I do not know what to do.
Chastity is when I continue my journey without stopping to love everything I meet on the way.
Temperance is when I hold my own throughout the course of my journey despite what I must go without.
Charity is when I share my findings with others without condescending.
Diligence is when I work hard and do my best to reach the end of my journey with satisfactory results.
Patience is when I work through my obstacles without giving up and quitting altogether.
Kindness is when I smile and wish good upon those who have their own journeys without envy or pity.
Humility is when I humble myself before all and accept that I have much farther to go on my journey.
