True Life: My Writing Partner Hates Me

Wow yeah, what a great point, really, spectacular logic on that one. I wonder if he can even pick up on sarcasm. "That was good"! Ha. Yes. Nailed it. He suspects nothing, I feel as if I come off too, hang on, I can not think of the word, oh yeah, "nice". Whatever that means, dear god if I have to sit next to this oaf for one more day begrudgingly tossing out another "good point" or "I see what you mean" I think I might snap. But no, snapping does not stand as an option, cool and collected, I can do this, only about, what, 12 days of school left, no prob- ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT STOOD AS A SYMBOL FOR SOCIETY'S STRUGGLE TO CONFORM. Honestly, I think I might not even belong in the same classroom as him. How did he get into this class to begin with, I feel like some money exchanged hands somewhere in the recommendation process because listening to his writing makes me want to drink bleach. Or make him drink bleach, no, too far, cool and collected. Possibly I think too harshly on occasion, maybe that could stand as a symbol for society's struggle to...I can not even think this with a straight face, a rock with a pen taped too it would make me more confident in my partnership. I think every time I sit next to him my IQ drops a point or ten, the struggle, oh well, at least I can learn something from Ms. Serensky. Oh wait, Ms. Seresnky, do not even get me started. Okay, too late, I started, the nerve of her, the audacity oh her to pair me with someone who does not even write his annotations neatly on post-it notes like me, he writes IN his book, like some peasant. Does Ms. Serensky not realize that I do not work with, with PEASANTS. Ugh, well at least he comes prepared...OH WAIT..."Hey, do you mind if I borrow a pen"? Sure, sure, WHY DON'T YOU JUST BORROW MY BOOK TOO, OH HERE, MIGHT AS WELL JUST TAKE MY BACKPACK. "Oh, sorry this is my only one", ha. Hahaha. HAHAHA. I have a pouch in my superfluously organized backpack dedicated to the sole purpose of housing my plethora of fine pens, and he truly thinks he deserves to lay his grubby salad fingers on them!? Psh, what a twit, if he even dares to ask for my college-ruled Five Star exquisite wood grain paper I will- "Hey, do you have any paper I could borrow"? I wonder if he can see the steam coming out of my ears, maybe my face, which I assume looks as cherry-red with anger as it feels drops the hint well enough for me to not have to say anything. "Anna"? "Sure, haha, of course you can"! How can he not notice my hand quivering with anger, oh right, because his head has more density than a block of solid concrete. This makes me feel like I have a pan-handler sitting next to me day in and day out "Spare some paper. Spare a pen"? SPARE A PIECE OF DIGNITY AND STOP FORGETTING YOUR SCHOOL SUPPLIES YOU ARROGANT APE. Ahhh, that feels better. Wait, what the...what's with all the staring...why do they all have that look on their face,  dear god, I need to stop thinking out loud.