Me, Having A Prophetic Dream: Lol

Me, having a prophetic dream: lol

Story time:

In middle school biology, we did an experiment. We were given yams, which we would sprout in cups of water. We then had to make hypotheses about how the yams would grow, based on descriptions of yam plants in our books, and make notes of our observations as they grew.

Here’s what was supposed to happen: we were supposed to see that the actual growth of the plant did not resemble our hypotheses. We were then supposed to figure out that these were, in fact, sweet potatoes.

What actually happened was that every single student in every single class lied in their notes so that their observations perfectly matched their hypotheses. See, everyone assumed the mismatch meant they had done something wrong in the process of growing the plant or that they had misunderstood the dichotomous key or the plant identification terminology. And, thanks to the wonders of a public school education, everyone assumed the wrong results would get us a failing grade. We were trying to pass. We didn’t want to get bitched out by the teacher. Curiosity, learning, science - that had nothing to do with why we were sitting in that classroom. So we all lied.

The teacher was furious. She tried to fail every student, but the administration stepped in and told her she wasn’t allowed to because a 100% fail rate is recognized as a failure of the teacher, not the class. It wasn’t even her fault, really, though her being a notorious hard-ass didn’t help. It was a failure of the entire educational system.

So whenever I see crap like Elizabeth Holmes’s blood test scam or pharmaceutical trials which are unable to be replicated or industry-funded research that reaches wildly unscientific conclusions, I just remember those fucking sweet potatoes. I remember that curiosity dies when people are just trying to give their superiors the “right” answers, so they can get the grade, get the job, get the paycheck. It’s not about truth when it’s about paying rent. There’s no scientific integrity if you can’t control for human desperation.

Something something about Jo March needing to search for beauty within herself, needing to write and create and come up with new meanings for the world around her, the world that she doesn't like (and that she feels doesn't like her) and Amy March seeing beauty everywhere she goes, simultaneously loving the concept and feeling overshadowed by it and how with both of them, it leads to this painfully wonderful or wonderfully painful catharsis.

i'm hotter than i think i am but i'm also uglier than i think i am. won't elaborate

being in your early twenties is like [grocery shopping alone] [having instant noodles for dinner] [remembering random details about that one friend you haven't spoken to in five years] [feeling overwhelming guilt for every purchase that isn't strictly "necessary"] [having midday naps] [finding out through facebook that the girl who was mean to you in high school has a husband and a baby] [falling a little in love with every stranger on public transport] [pretending you're not afraid of being alone] [wondering when you'll feel like a fully realized person] [listening to bands you liked in middle school] [blinking and it's suddenly december] [failing to imagine yourself ten years from now] [feeling like you're running out of time]

"i loved my friend" by langston hughes // on earth we're briefly gorgeous, written by ocean vuong // scott street by phoebe bridgers // unknown painting // "the worm king's lullaby" from war of the foxes by richard siken // only friends by wallows // hope ur ok by olivia rodrigo // wish you were here by pink floyd // ghost photograph by angela deane // "thanksgiving 2006" from night sky with exit wounds by ocean vuong // dear friend by dayglow // the night we met by lord huron and phoebe bridgers // the archer by taylor swift // my buddy by chet baker // ghosting by txt // fading by flatsound // miserable lie by the smiths // bad friend by rina sawayama // haunted by dean gioia // hour of the wolf by surf curse