Drew’s Train of Thought

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Drew’s Train of Thought

Drew DeKeyrel, the Tortured One, Scribe of the Old Ones

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You know what really bugs me? Decimal numbers cannot be odd or even. It irritates me so much. I look at 4.33 and feel disgusted because I personally don’t like odd numbers other than 3 and 5. Before you point out that the number I used has a 3 within it, I mean I only like 3 when it is literally 3. The reason why I like 5 and its multiples is because they are halfway between multiples of 10, and that is good. Now, back to decimal numbers. 4.33 cannot be odd because by adding a 0 to it, which does nothing but show there is value behind the 3, it essentially becomes “even.” Far too many nights in middle school I spent tossing and turning, waking up in cold sweats with decimal numbers mocking me. I have only now mustered the courage to talk about my disgust and fear of them. I hope that now that I have opened up about it, schools will ban decimal numbers from the curriculum in order to preserve my mental and physical health. Who needs to know you have .o2 moles of C8H10N4O2? Actually, that would be 3.883812 grams of C8H10N4O2. Nevermind, I wish to keep the decimal numbers. That amount of C8H10N4O2 would be greatly beneficial to me.

There are a select few people that read this article that also have the misfortune of having a class with me. I sincerely apologize. However, those within these classes are able to experience something truly majestic: the sacred ritual of me attempting to not randomly fall asleep, all the while rambling nonsense and writing cryptic messages as notes. Typically, these notes are me begging the Lovecraftian Old Ones to cease their endless torment of me. Other times, albeit less often, these notes to myself are about the dreams I see whenever I slip into unconsciousness. My Calculus notes are roughly ninety percent runic scratchings, eight percent writings of a crazy man, and two percent actual notes. Sometimes, I don’t even mean to write them. I’ll simply jolt awake and look down to see that I have written something about being in the drive-thru while someone angrily complains that there is no guacamole in her drink. Other times, it’ll be my unconscious self attempting to follow along with the notes, unsuccessfully of course. I believe I wrote taco once in my Calculus notes while we were going over limits. I have no idea where taco came from. I’m not even particularly fond of tacos. In conclusion, if you ever want to feel like you’re in one of those games or movies where the main character finds a journal of someone slowly losing their mind, feel free to check out my notes in class.

 

You know what is so beautiful? The sound of a thousand crickets, chirping along to my every thought. I simply love it so much that I cannot even express to you in words how much I love them. I just wish I could hear their lovely, oh so lovely, chirping even more. I love when I’m sitting in class in dead silence that the cricket that has found some long forgotten secret tunnel within the school begins to sing its beautiful, harmonious song. It’s as if Mark Moen himself has come back and begun playing the violin directly into my ear. You know what I think we should do? We should release more crickets. I want to have an orchestra whenever I walk into the room. It’ll be so lovely. The crickets can join us in choir and band. Their chirps count as both an instrument and their voice. If you don’t like the crickets, you are wrong. I mean, who could possibly hate the beautiful, relentless, ever-watching, all-knowing insects that hop around our rooms, climb within our walls, find dimensional tears in spacetime, and provide us with music akin to that of the Muses. I only wish a cricket would bestow its power and knowledge upon myself. One can dream, I guess.

Please I’m begging get rid of them. I’m losing my mind. Let’s just release a bunch of frogs to take care of them. It’s natural, it’s organic, it’s free. What could go wrong? Nothing. Kill the crickets. Kill them all.

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