Breathing metaphorically, I feel as though my mind palace is shoved full of things, half squished and cramped up to fit, so that each individual idea is bent beyond recognition. Like so much useless chatter I feel word after word get stuck between my ears in an opaque mess of thought. Question marks, black and red, are scrawled in front of me, hanging from every neuron, so that when I sit at a desk I cannot even see the board in front of me though I push my glasses higher.
Where before I struggled to find something I couldn't ace; these past weeks I just don't know. I can't recall what I know, I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to know and I have no idea what I don't know. Knowledge flees from me as from a burning building. I stare agape as the numbers peel from the page and jig before me in a parody of my dreams.
No sooner have I half figured out a concept, barely had the breath to ask why!?- than the next giant theory is upon me, with half grasped rules. Finish this, finish that, you've got homework to do if you don't. They pile up so that my future is booked to the moon with the things I should have done yesterday. I can barely unstick my mind from its present hurried task to contemplate finding real understanding by revision and study.
If only I had a pet dragon to yell out, "I don't understand!" in order to slow the runaway train that is our maths lessons.
The class' understanding is reminiscent already of the train wreck that our exams will surely be. Our blood will run like sweat as we hunch nervous over the paper and strings of invisible algebra will drift over the hall like motes of dust in the sunlight, called pi, Greek, xylophone and Euler. Stares will blankly examine the log that is now a table before the clocks flies to 2. Mark my numbers this is a torturous blind fold of confusion soaked in chloroform.
Save me before I drown.
