Chemistry is a weird lesson in the day. I feel stressed and wail. A feeble cry: we’re trying to graduate we’re really trying very hard so help us. The last breath turned to air and I float upon my blue desk.
Perhaps I’ve lost a little of my mind, somewhere between reversible reactions and organic chemistry. I can never be sure since impure substances have a range of boiling points.
So I’ve resolved to get A1s upon staring at my quiz. The dry spell lasted too long this time. So let’s name our kids Kevlar, the bulletproof fabric, the noble scientist, the strange obsession our teacher has with it.
I hope they grow up strong: their name would harden their soft entrails and beating heart. Channel their namesake’s scientific aptitude that I have not given them. Or not, it may be a burden, or they may hate chemistry.
Perhaps I’ve already lost my mind, but chemistry is a quaint lesson and by now when the end is in sight everyone’s dehydrated mildly delirious from the marathon and it’s mind over muscle and we’ve all lost a bit of our minds.
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