holy shit the feels

drafting class, ninth grade, the teacher also happened to be the wrestling coach

so there's me, who loves to draw, loves mechanical things, and there are about sixteen guys who are wrestlers who just want an easy blow-off class, and it takes me a couple of weeks to realize that the teacher just wants an easy blow-off class as well, he doesn't giva a shit about drafting, not really, his main interests are involved primarily with pinning teenage boys on the floor.

ok i'll just draw pictures of screws and brackets quietly over here, right? surely no one will give me grief if i just quietly do my work over here and maybe i'll learn something right?

right???

oh fuck no, guess how many times i got knocked off of my stool, guess how many times my drawings got ripped or crumpled or fucking mountain dew spilled on them, guess how many times i was abused and humiliated just for wanting to learn? how many times each day my table got "accidentally" bumped?

and maybe you can guess what the teacher did about it, here is a complete list:

...

god damn god damn and now i'm 40 and im still so angry

maybe its because i never did snap, i never snap, that rage just goes dormant down inside my guts and burns for decades like a hot coal there; maybe its because it neve comes up, it never comes out, that the pressure just builds over the years, maybe its because im weak and i know there is nothing i can do when i get knocked off my stool again, except live in fantasies of gory and brutal revenge; maybe its because i'm too strong and i CAN keep it bottled up forever... can i keep it bottled up forever?

oh algernon_moncrief, you're one of the nicest guys i know, you never lose your temper, you just seem so PEACEFUL, oh algernon_moncrief you couldn't huirt a fly, i think you'll be such a good dad, algernon_moncrief you have the patience of a saint

MURDER MURDER MURDER