Taking the Time

Ok, so I suppose I have been thinking quite hard about Aquinas in a whole. The philosophy, the system of intrigue it seems to have, and rather than dive into what happened in class between the professors and I, or expressing my opinions on how I effected others, I will simply just tell a story.

It was the first day of grade 11, and the two English teachers at the time, Miss Blanchette, and Miss Watson, were a pair of old hippies who obviously had a nack for pointing out how bad every one of their students were at English. Grade 11 was the grade everyone was afraid of going into, basically for the reason that they would be taking English with one of these two. They were a scary pair of woman with their moth filled clothing, and ugly hair.
The first english class was with both of them standing at the front of the classroom with a stack of paper as high as the desk, almost literally. They were exams. They were 100 question, 8 page, peices of hell, with simply one sentance as each question, which u would need to pick out what was wrong (or not wrong) and write it on the side. I literally almost shit myself looking at it, and trying to go through it knowing I would surely fail.
And I did....with flying colors.
15 out of 100 was my final score on the test, and when I looked at it, I hung my head low, put my head on the desk, and nearly cried. I was also not the only one. 85 percent of the class failed that exam. The teachers simply gave it to us, and let us leave the class for the day. As I left the room, I could feel this overwhelming sense of doom. I did not feel like learning where I made my mistakes, I did not feel like correcting anything, I did not feel like learning more about punctuation or spelling or anything to improve if I were ever presented with a similar situation. I did not want to learn. Simply because I felt like I was already a fool.