I am fucked, but not in that good way

This little entry is called ‘Why Bright Kids Fail’, an homage of sorts to the popular book that explains just because a kid doesn’t do their work, it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are dumb. Actually, quite the contrary—it could mean that they are bored by it.

I have a stats exam in about twenty-four hours, where I need to teach myself an entire term’s worth of statistical knowledge. Last night, I sat and watched bootlegged movies off of the Internet until 6am (God Bless jetlag), then proceeded to sleep until 2pm, and now am glancing over my stats book, saddened that I have to read the entire thing tonight. So much for getting a bulk of my studies done early, so I may have the remaining time to ask questions.

But come on people, it’s not like I am aiming for a perfect score here. I just need to pass.

You know, in high school and college, since my career path was so fuzzy and I didn’t believe I had any discernable talents—besides having men pay for shit—I threw myself into my studies. Afraid that if I fucked up, I would somehow end up on LI, living with a boyfriend who beat me, and a 1983 Cutlass Supreme sitting in my driveway. But, this little revelation I had over break—how I really just want to write, or maybe become an executive assistant—and knowledge that in the real world, if you are too smart, people would never want to hire you. Yea for omitting I went to Oxford when I apply for said Executive Assistant jobs—come on, do you really think that a finance boy could deal that his secretary went to a more prestigious school than he?

After working for years in advertising, market research, even a fashion showroom, I learned that my intelligence is a liability. When you interview for positions, nobody is going to ask me what my GPA is from Oxford, and to be perfectly honest, I would rather wallow in my bed, watching tv and planning the latest adventure to New Orleans.

It’s just in the grand scheme of things, I know I will never have to understand statistical analysis every again. I just want a cushy magazine job, and a book deal. And maybe a nice Jewish boy with an abnormally large penis, and an abnormally large bank account to match, British accent optional on this one.

So, yes. I know I fucked myself. I know I am possibly going to fail. But to be perfectly honest, I just don’t fucking care. Especially since I know what my strengths are, and how my grades in the everything else will prove that I am a good student—just one who is lazy and not mathematically inclined. Off to shower, and attack statistics.

But first, let me have this nap.