I’m sitting in the classroom; the bell’s about to ring.
I know what the teacher’s going to say; the agenda’s on the board.
The perfect paragraph form, the ratio of force and acceleration,
Bacterial walls, project your voice, don’t read from the PowerPoint.
Use the Scientific Method even though even that may not be found in the real world.
If it were recess for me, I could be outside with the third grade.
Instead of an agenda, why not have a giant rock fall from the sky riddled with answers to what I really need to know?
Please, Sky Rock. Solve for x, find the thesis, and conclude a p value of statistical certainty.
There are too many apps, too many episodes, too many things to clean, not enough free time for any of that.
And while you’re at it Sky Rock, the what about the extra credit that’s not on the test but makes my grade?
What should I have for lunch? Will I ever find true love?
What should I do with my life? Do I want kids or not?
Is there really purpose to it all?
I can’t think, myself.
All those are first, second, third thoughts. Final and fourth, forget it.
What would I really do with that? How relaxing would it really be?
If I would no longer worry about deep human thoughts, would I merely be no longer deep, or would I no longer be … something more fundamental?
So fifthly and first again. I will think. Can’t help it. They will swirl around my head, lingering like some bad secondhand smoke just faintly tainting the air, without really being able to do anything about it.
Besides, the bell’s about to ring.
And I have to teach the class soon; I put the agenda on the board.
Photographer Peter Stackpole; Actress Elizabeth Taylor, 18, (Feb. 27), at graduation time, posing at desk in classroom at Hollywood’s University High School. 19 Jan 1950