I hate my classmates.

The time is 7:56 pm.
The classroom is composed of wooden chairs with their individual wooden writing slates.
The chairs turn and when they turn they creek loudly enough to drown out the soft spoken.
The professor is mumbling over his stumbling bits of sentences that more or less come to no real definitive point, as mumbling often denotes grey area.

It strikes. It struck more quickly then unchecked mildew growth in bathtubs but not so quickly as electrical currents finding a complete circuit. …

The words, the disgusting elitist words, the unexciting uninspiring ideas they’re knocking each other in the air in front of my face. Watching them is all I do, it’s so dispassionate so off putting. It’s frankly boring as shit – and this was an exciting novel.
People are saying things and talking, simply rearranging presented facts and wondering aloud “Well – how did Heathcliff earn all that money?”
WHOFUCKINGCARESTHATSWHYITSNOTINTHENOVEL

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(That’s what it feels like when my heart clinches with irritation.)
Paint a picture of inferences you morons. Write a song.
There’s a reason it was never made into words.

Conclusion:
I am a terrible judgmental classmate and an unfeeling person.
But don’t waste my learning time by being snooty, repetitive, redundant and uncreative.