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In Part 1 of this little writing trilogy I've started, I talked about my experiences with the person who, until Aileen, was my longest lasting girlfriend, at least locally (I think Cam and I went longer, and if that's the case, I'm EXTREMELY thankful). She was also my most nuts; I've had me some kooky relationships (fuck, Christine Van Deussen of all people IMed me last night! She's the one that hacked into both my LJ and my samplemember FESS account! The convo... well, it was brief), but that one almost permanently fucked up my life.

Still, that explains how I managed to earn my views on women while I was in the service, but in the list of the three things to happen to me that had the most profound effect, it's really the least meaningful, and the least painful. Right around the time I broke it off with Amy, I was about to embark on what I'm writing about here...

I remember taking the ASVAB test in high school; it was something completely optional, but I was thinking of the Service anyway. Afterall, if I joined the Navy, I would be third generation; my uncle served in the 70s (though he essentially washed out), while my grandfather was not only enlisted, but stationed on the USS Patterson (DD-392) when it was attacked at Pearl Harbor; he retired a Master Chief. I had these thoughts in my mind, and the illusions of grandeur of my Grandfather's battle heroics with them, when I took the ASVAB, which is the test to show how competant you are for specific jobs in the service. I remember being told to put down "Option 8" on the scoresheet; that meant that my information would be anonymous, and not seen by recruiters, no matter what my score was.

Well, I scored well; a quotent (I forget the acronym) of 80 is something like top 5 or 10%, something like that. Naturally... somehow, IRONICALLY, I was receiving calls from EVERYONE. The Marines called me. The Army called me. The Air Force called me. The fucking COAST GUARD called me! Ironically, the Navy called me last. I'm sure I made Mike's job (my recruiter) much easier:

"Hello Chris! I'm Mike, with Navy Opportunities! Hey, have you ever considered a career in the military?"
"Yeah, I've thought about the Navy for awhile. Where do I start?"
"Um... OK! First thing..."

I told Mike what I wanted: I wanted to work on Electronics, which was what I was going to school for at O'Brien Tech anyway. He went "Well, we have two programs for you! The first one offers you $30,000 for college, but you have to sign up for five years. The second one, you have to sign up for six years..." "I don't want six years!" "... but you get up to $45,000 for college, extra pay, and the pride of knowing you're the Navy's elite scholasitc mind!" "Holy fuck! Six years sounds damn good! :D"

He proceded to tell me about Nuclear Power School, the opportunity to work on nuclear power plants - which propell all of our subs, and just about any carrier left that matters - and the money that comes with it. He must have seen right through me, because he played to the weakest parts of my personality at the time (and now): my vanity and my ego. He kept using the words "elite", "best", "role model" and all that. I wanted to be all those things! And who cares if it's hard? I'm the best, aren't I?

This involved going to MEPS for the dumbest physical ever (two words that ex-military men will understand: "Duck walk"), the worst blood test ever (they couldn't find a vein, and ended up wiggling the needle in my arm looking for it), and a competancy test. Once I saw that test, I knew I was in trouble; I saw symbols on that thing that I'd never seen in my life... and STILL don't know what they mean in terms of mathematics (Eliz! What the FUCK does the Episilon symbol do in math? :(). Somehow, I got a good enough grade to get accepted after the background check! I don't know how; I guessed on too much of that test. But of course, I couldn't recognise what that meant. I couldn't recognise that I was essentially a tech school student from a school with a poor academic program that was at the top of the academic heap without even trying at that school (I was the prototypical "He's so brilliant, but doesn't apply himself!" C student that teachers loathe) and got lucky on one test. I passed! I was accepted into NUKES! $45K for college, dawg! I'm the BADDEST MOTHERFUCKER EVER!

Of course, my last months of school - this was in February of '99 - I let everyone know how awesome I was; I must have been insufferable. Then, I got my buddy into the service through a referral, so I got a SWEATSUIT out of it! I didn't get it until December 28th - one day before I went in - but I got a fuckin' SWEATSUIT, MAN! Girls LOVE me... or not. Joleen broke up with me that March, the freshman were getting boring, and then Amy happened, and I didn't understand why. I mean, I was a sailor! And a NUKE! I'm bad-ass!

Fast forward to boot camp. Right away, I'm given a bad rap BECAUSE of being a nuke. Apparently, we have no common sense or something like that; all booksmarts, they say. Well, this is obviously the musings of the intellectually inferior, right? I mean, what are you going to be? Oh, a deck seaman? I'm a fuckin' NUKE! Be gone, plebe! I'm going to be a Nuke, as an Electroni--

"Bowman! You got MM!"

A little explanation is needed here: we had three drill instructors - known as Recruit Drill Commanders, RDCs for short - in our division. We had MM1 (Machinist's Mate 1st Class) Vern (?) Bussararungsee (probable spelling error), this short little Vietnamiese man who was both the funniest and scariest one we had; he would either crack wonderful jokes (and then make you do pushups for breaking military bearing while laughing), or scream at us while making us excersize for fuckups ("YOU DO PUSH UP! YOU FUCKING KILL YOURSELF! YOU WON'T SURVIVE! YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!") Then we had AT1 (Aviation Electronics Technician 1st Class) Dexter Tucker, a tall black man with some soul; he would play this gospel-type music on good days to wake us up, and when we were struggling, he got real with us, which we appreciated. He was also very blunt ("Bowden! You are overweight and out of shape!"). That was another thing: he constantly got my name fucked up; it was everything EXCEPT what my name was supposed to be. Bowman, Bowden, Bauman, you name it... it had to be intentional, because it's almost physically impossible to consistently fuck up a five letter Welsh-based name. And then there was EN1 (Engineman 1st Class) Carl Moore, who sounded like a California surfer guy, would mercilessly cut you up, do it in the funniest way possible while keeping it a straight face, but he caught your attention when he got pissed, I can say that. He's notable for two things: 1) Giving me the "superbus" moniker, and 2) Essentially making me a man. Needless to say, the person that dropped the bomb that I was being pigeonholed into MM threw me for a loop; I didn't join to be a mechanic, I joined to be an electronics tech! They told me that my ASVAB scores didn't qualify me for a position as "academically challenging" as the ET field. I remember finding the nicest way I could to ask "and my previous Electronics experience doesn't, either?". Didn't matter; I was an MM, and ohbytheway, I had a six year contract.

I eventually got over that and got to Nuke School, freshly graduated from Boot. I was ready to tear some shit up; finally, I get to be a real sailor! And hey, South Carolina in the spring and summer is MUCH better than Great Lakes, Illinois in the winter! Hell, with me just having broken up, as a sailor, I'll be fuckin' SWIMMING in pussy! I'm so bad ass...

I get there, and learn that Nuke School is a great place; it's an advanced base with great perks, great facilities, nice teachers, great weather... this place wasn't like boot camp, surely. At that point, even the women, in their dress blacks, looked downright hot (Navy women, historically, aren't very attractive, though that has a lot to do with the uniforms). Furthermore, open berthing was over, and we all had one roommate, with two roommates to a suite. VERY nice. It was very easy to impress a sailor fresh out of basic.

Then we learned some rules. There was a three badge system; yellow, green and blue. Yellow badges were in uniform 100% of the time while outside the berthing room, Green badges could wear civilian clothes on weekends, while blue badges basically had full freedom as long as their grades were up. Everything was somewhat rigidly structured; we had study classes, then mandatory study hours; at first, everything was set to 15-2 (fifteen hours a week, and a minimum of 2 hours a day from Sunday - Thursday), but after that, it depended on your performance; anything from 0-0 to 30-5. Now, with school being 10 hours, 50 + 30 = 80 hours of MANDATORY study a week. And furthermore, you couldn't bring any work out of the school. At all. It was classified. Fun, eh? Needless to say, you didn't want 30-5.

And then there was another Draconian rule, which really separated the men from the boys: the Trust Rule. Essentially, this stated that if you knew a shipmate did ANYTHING wrong - weather it was anything light like being outside past curfew, or something major like cheating or bringing work home - you were supposed to report it to the administration. And here's the fun part: if you didn't, and they found out, whatever punishment that shipmate got, you got DOUBLE that, if it was legal.

The intent of the rule was essentially to cut down on mistakes; after all, you need full trust with a nuclear reactor, and you can't slack off one bit; otherwise, you could end up with a floating Chrynoble and 5,000 dead sailors. But in reality, it just let you see who the men were, and who were the chickenshit snitches. Personally, even back then, when I wasn't fully developed as a person, I knew that being an untrustworthy sailor meant being a bad sailor and a worse person; nowadays, I'd take the double punishment to defend someone, back then, I would have, but I'd have had to think about it. More on this rule later.

So moving forward, we eventually started school, and I started well out of the gate on the first test; I got a good score, only made bad by some stupid mistakes, and the fact that I was loathe to show proper work. At Nuke School, the answer was not as importnant as showing HOW you got said answer; you had to show your work clearly, every step of the way, and if you didn't, you lost most of your credit. If you were wrong at one point in the answer, you lost points, or if you didn't do something right, you lost points. At the time, I thought it was annoying, but nothing more.

But then we got our first really hard test, right around the time the schoolwork started to REALLY pick up; it was the third test. Simply put, it caught me by storm; I wasn't prepared. And I failed the test, not so much because of bad answers (in a predominantly math and science based course), but because I was bad at showing my work. I figured at first "OK, no problem, this is just one failure, I won't get hurt too badly for this..." But I couldn't have been more wrong if I'd have slapped it on my ass. They got all us failures into a room, and barked at us like children to get at attention. Uh oh. Then some piece of shit - don't even remember his name, but if I ever see him again, I'll slit his throat - started dressing us down as if we were rats. We failed the Navy. We failed our country. We failed our families. He told us - and this is a quote - "if your mothers were here, I'd slap the shit out of them for raising shitbags like you".

What the fuck do you do when they tell you that? And when they add in the fact that they own you, and if you don't do what they say, they'll lock you up and you'll never see your family again with a simple flick of the finger? You do what I did: work like a frightened idiot. I had no choice; I got the dreaded 30-5. That meant that I went to school from 6:30 to 4, and then had to study for five more hours, before midnight, when school closed. And all homework HAD to be completed; no excuses. And it had better be right; don't half-ass it. I was hopelessly behind in my work, I wasn't learning anything due to lack of sleep, my classmates essentially left me in the dust to concentrate on their own study, and even worse, it was starting to affect my health, between the lack of sleep and stress. Teachers weren't any better; I'd get dinged anytime I was caught asleep in class (a reportable offense, like everything else), and spent so much time standing at attention and getting yelled at that I started to affectionately call myself "shitbag" as if it was my new name.

I wasn't the only one struggling; in the electronics program, one of my suitemates, Mickey Merriam, was stuggling in the electronics class. Mick was interesting; a nutjob of a kid with a heart of fucking gold, who I'm fairly sure was raised on the 8 Mile road that Eminem made famous. So essentially, we suffered 30-5 together, and the shame with it. Simply put, if you were struggling, it was not a policy for your shipmates to support you and help you. Instead, it was a policy to shun you. It was very Darwin-esque; you weren't good enough for them, and it was more conveinient if you were weeded out of the natural order of things. How DARE you call yourself a Nuke!? You piece of shit, you can't do what I do? Get out of my presence. I swear to God, this is what it was like there.

Eventually, it caught up to me; I had unfinished homework one night, and decided I would finally take it home; hell, my reasoning was that even if I got caught, I'd at least go down fighting. So I took it home, and worked on it all night... at which point, I went to school and copied it over into the book. Then I feigned being sick, and went to medical, where I was checked out, but just told that I needed more sleep. That day, I was exhausted; I could NOT stay awake, and when someone asked me what was wrong... I told him. I told him I said "fuck it" and took the work home. Now, this day, I was already put on "report" for falling asleep too much, as well as my poor class performance. Naturally, this classmate - fearful of what would happen to him - reported me for taking the work home, which guaranteed I was screwed. I don't really blame him too much; he had himself to take care of, and I know he did it with a heavy heart (he was one of the few people to extend a hand to me). But he was one of the better ones; to most other people, I was an outcast at this point, and they couldn't wait to be rid of my presence, as if incompetance was contageous. These are the type of people that would report someone only because they were told to, or to make themselves look better. I was finally starting to understand the "lack of common sense" issue that people had with Nukes; these people were nothing but booksmart, the type of person that couldn't tie their shoes if someone didn't show them exactly how to do it with a diagram.

After ahwile, the reports went through, and I was sent up to Captain's Mast. For those of you uneducated, Captain's Mast is what is known in the military code of justice as Non-Judicial Punishment. Judicial punishment is a court martial; think of that as a criminal trial, with real-world reprecussions. The guy that got 100 years for killing and raping that 14 year old girl? THAT is Judicial. NJP was essentially a trip to the Principle's Office; it had no real-world effects on you, everything was kept inside the service, it's nowhere on my civilian record... but this principle was the commanding officer of the base, and therefore, he could take away whatever he wanted, more or less. The Captain can take up to half your pay, put you on "restriction" (meaning, you can't leave the base, can't be out of uniform, and have to muster regularly, along with other stupid rules, like you can't be in the same room as alcohol - meaning that I couldnt' even go to the conveinience store on base because it sold liquor - and some other shit I forget about, it depends on the command), hell, he could have bounced me from Nukes - or the Navy! - right then. Instead, I was given 30 days restriction, a reduction in rank to Fireman Apprentice (E-2; in Nuke, you start at E-3), and I would have to go through an academic board to see if I was good enough to stay in Nukes.

At this point, I was mentally done. After the Mast, I literally broke down, talking to my mother back home; it was a relief of sorts (as our class advisor reminded me of; "the worst is over", he said. George Brickhouse was a rare good man in that program), and I just sat there, balling like a little bitch, to the point where someone - another good person - asked me if everything was alright. But Brickhouse was right; other than various officers telling me how much of a piece of shit I was, the worst WAS over. Except musters.

Every two hours on schooldays, and every four hours on weekends, I had to go and muster, just to show I was still around and being a good boy. This involved being inspected, accounted for, and - you guessed it - yelled at. We, the shitbags of the Nuke program, turned it into... a song and dance. Literally. We would literally throw our arms around each other, and do a CHORUS KICK-LINE, while singing the Chain Gang song from some movie! Oh don't you knoooooow, that's the souuuuuuuuund of a man (Kick back~) workin' on the chain.... *clap* Gaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnniiiiiiaaaaaannnnngggggggggggg~ "What's with you fucking assholes?" "We're lightening the mood sir..." Now don't you heeeeeere me baby~ "You assholes should not even be allowed to speak! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?" Ooooh~ *clap* Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh~ *clap* "HOW DARE YOU!?" Ooooh~ *clap* AAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhh~ *clap*... you can see that self-loathing wasn't high on our lists. And to be honest? It was the best I'd felt in awhile.

That is, until I was pulled out of class one day. I had taken my academic board a few days earlier, and had assumed that I was in trouble; I answered one question in such a way that one of the questioners just raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, like a curious dog, which is not a good sign. I was pulled out, and told that I had failed my academic board, and was being separated from the Nuclear pipeline; I was to be sent as a fireman RECRUIT (E-1) to the fleet; the reasoning I would lose rank again was because I had violated the terms of my contract, but instead of letting me go, they wanted me to serve out my standard contract, but not at my paygrade. There was GOOD news to come out of this which I will explain later. But I was out... with one day to go on restriction. I never got that coveted blue badge, and if that wasn't cruel enough, when Brickhouse brought me in, I saw my blue badge - which I was one day from getting - SITTING ON HIS DESK. If that isn't cruel irony, I don't know what is... but instead, I got a nice little purple badge, and was to be out of my room by 10PM to be sent to TPU, the place where they send people before they send them either home or to their ship.

In short, I was devastated that I failed, and that it was finally over, and that I'd failed; this was really the second lowest point my life had ever been. All the confidence I'd had coming in, all the elitism I was raised with, came crashing down so fast that I couldn't adjust; I simply had no chance. Even without all those things, I simply didn't have the prior education. I was 31st out of a class of 31 people; that will humble you really quickly. The good news was that I did make one friend in Mick, who I even lent my copy of Final Fantasy VIII (he liked to play the card game more than the actual fucking game. XD)

I finished my one day of suspension, and was so excited, I told the guy doing my ticket at TEP what I was going to do now that I was free. Not only did I no longer have to worry about school, I no longer had a curfew; make 8AM muster, do your job, you're good. I LIKED THAT. "I can't wait to leave here..." "I don't care." "I'm gonna go skate a bit!" "I don't give a fuck..." "... Oh." Well, at least he was honest. I skated up and down that 4 mile road with my blades, before a guard stopped me and asked me not to; panthers attack at night, I was told. Oops. That is the one positive thing about that base: there was an outdoor roller hockey rink near officer housing. That was one of the few things I could do no problem, even when restricted; I asked my mother to send me my skates, my stick and some pucks and balls. My old boss at the rink, Scott Crowley - who dedicated readers of Gunlord's FESS History know got me into reffing - sent me a NEW $100 stick, more equipment, a new helmet, pucks and balls, you name it. I even got to play pick-up against the kids and officers on base (they sucked), which was just absolutely awesome in every way. And while I was at TPU, I played a LOT of hockey.

I also did my paperwork before separating, and filled out my dream sheet; this is what they have you do to see where you want to go for a command, etc. I said my three locations were Groton CT., Pearl Harbor HI and Okinawa JPN. On the "where do you not want to go" part, I specifically said "I would strongly prefer not to go to Norfolk, VA"; I'd heard nothing good about Norfolk. I also moved into a room designed for four people... alone. That was AWESOME; I had the whole room to myself, and my long sessions of Playstation playing. As a loner by nature, that was not a bad thing, and to this day, despite everything going on in my life at that time, I have fond memories of playing FIFA 2000 and Fox NHL Championship Hockey 2000 (the most underrated game of the era, hockey wise). Plus, I had only a few things to do in life; get up, muster, work out, go to my job they gave me, come back. I couldn't go many places on the base, but to tell the truth, I had MORE freedom; I could go to the Exchange whenever I wanted, my nights were free, and furthermore, I was given a good job.

I got to work at the base library. That was an INCREDIBLE job; for one, all I had to do was stack some books, and clean some stuff; other than that, I was free to do or read whatever I wanted, or check email/the internet (this is where I first noticed the emails that Amy had sent me). I read a lot of books during this time; nothing truly classic, but it did foster a love of just learning things in me that stands to this day, and that I didn't enjoy to that point. And the women there were beautiful people; they never wanted to work me too hard, and I always went above and beyond the call of duty for them. This is the first time in too long I'd dealt with civilians for an extended period of time; the first time since I enlisted, really. I enjoyed it throughly.

The only problem? I got my assignment: I was going to the USS George Washington (an aircraft carrier; strike one, I wanted a sub) in Norfolk, VA (Strike 2, as noted above), and even worse... I was due there on June 10, and they left on June 21 for a SIX MONTH DEPLOYMENT in the PERSIAN GULF. That counted as strikes 3-300. I found out what happened, too; the person that gave me my assignment knew how I got out of Nukes, and wanted to fuck me as hard as possible. Protip: if that's the enjoyment you derive from your job - sticking sailors where they never want to be - then you have a bankrupt existance, and should just kill yourself. I was very unhappy with this, but had to take it on the chin, and felt a little better once the person at the desk told me "dude, trust me, the subs are shit. You want to believe me, you'll enjoy a carrier much more".

That's really the end of my time in Nuke school; as an ammendum, I wasn't the only one to get bounced that I knew; Mick didn't make it through either, as well as a few others for various reasons (drugs, AWOL, etc.). Mick, however, came to our ship! My mother - who talked to Mick, when he said "Hey, tell numbnuts I am bringing him his game and some other shit he forgot!" (exact quote - he had my CDs that I left, too) - told me that he was COMING to the ship! He got sent to the Washington as a deck seaman, and we were close friends throughout my whole time in the service, and close allies in our jobs, as well, until he cross-rated to Aviation Electronics Tech. We got frocked to Third Class Petty Officer (E-4) on the same day. We went on liberty together. We essentially went through all the bullshit together, and I'm thankful; Mick stayed in the service, and I believe he's married, with a kid, and has been promoted to AT2. I never saw anyone in my class again; no one that I knew of came to the ship. And furthermore, I grew to appreciate both Norfolk - a decent area made bad only by the fact that it's THE biggest Navy base in the world - and the Washington better (the guy was right; subs suck, and the Washington was much roomier. And I liked having women on the ship, too). It really did work out for the better. And at the end of my career, I was on top of the world, really; I'd have been promoted to E-5 had I stayed in, and I separated with a 4.0 evaluation score, the best there is. Really, I never ever dipped below a 3.8 on any evaluation while I was in, but I left with consistent 4.0s.

It worked out EXCEPTIONALLY well because of the one major caveat of my contract: due to me failing out of Nukes, my contract went from six years of active duty to four. That was HUGE, as I wanted to separate almost my whole time in the service. But it's significant for everyone here, too, because... if it weren't for that, you wouldn't be reading any of this. Think about that: I separated on December 29th, 2003. If it weren't for that, I would never have come home, never have gotten my own computer, never have looked for those game codes... and never found FESS. From there, I wouldn't have met 80% of you, including my current girlfriend, the love of my life. All of this that I have... due to that little caveat in my contract. If I'd have separated in 2005 instead... I don't know where I'd be. All I know is that I PERMANENTLY separate from the service (I'm currently inactive reserve) on December 29th, 2007. I'm practically counting the days.

So how did this affect my life? For one, it did humble me; if you think I'm cocky NOW, you didn't know me as a kid; essentially, I was like Blacken, but more liberal. Secondly, it engendered a hatred of math in me that still continues to this day. Come to think of it, it's funny, because at that time, I was really good at math, but hated English, and writing. Now? I'm an excellent writer that hates math. It's like I did a 180.

But most significantly, Nuke School gave me a resentment of authority, or more specifically, unrealistic and abusive authority. I made a promise to myself after Nuke School that no man would EVER indignify me ever again; I would never bend my knee to any man, even at the expense of my life. Essentially, instead of getting me to step into line, these people made me rebel against it and step OUT of it. Even in my later Navy career - a Navy where people are essentially well paid serfs with better clothing - I was essentially anti-autority. Not in the classical sense - remember, I did have authority as a small-time leader of my workcentre - but in the sense that I was my own man, no matter if my shirt said "U.S. NAVY" or if I had the same clothes on as everyone else. My attitude was that, essentially, even in a culture that kills indivisualism, I would be an individual, regardless of the consequences. I have to say, I fell a lot better about those three and a half years than I do about the first six months. A quote by Robert Henilein - ironic for me, since Blacken likes to quote him so much I think he has a man-crush on him - expresses my views best:

I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable,
I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free
because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I

Overall, the United States Navy was a good way to turn me into a man; even at my lowest, Nuke School was good for me, especially in the sense of growing me up. I wouldn't be the man I am today without it.


These past two entries have been rather fun to write; I've managed to add in some humour to my outstanding storytelling skills.

... I'll be completely honest. Part 3 is not going to be fun. I'm dreading writing it. It will be the most painful thing I ever write. And it won't be for the weak. That's fair warning. Just thinking of it makes me shudder.


( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
Mar. 2nd, 2007 03:38 pm (UTC)
It's interesting what you can see when enough time has gone by for you to look back on. ^_^
Mar. 2nd, 2007 06:38 pm (UTC)
I would assume the third part involves seperated bodies and all that shit you mentioned in FESS?

Because, seriously, each time I think about that I SHUDDER like hell.
Mar. 2nd, 2007 07:11 pm (UTC)
If part three is about what I think it's about, I think it's good that you're able to talk about it. It's one big step to putting it behind you completely.
Mar. 2nd, 2007 10:46 pm (UTC)
Like Camilla said, it's a big step to putting it behind you... but also, it's a big step in moving forward to help other people, other children who have endured the same, especially when coupled with your cultivating interest towards psychology...
Mar. 2nd, 2007 10:53 pm (UTC)
The more I hear about the military from people who've been in it, the gladder I am that I put an end to the family tradition and stayed away from it. (One my uncles did time on a sub; he hasn't been quite the same since.) I just don't see much use in something that utterly denigrates and humiliates people for the sake of fostering obedience and a 'cog in a machine' mentality, though it does seem to be a life-altering experience for those who survive it.

(For people who are reading, 'Bus is John McCain, and I'm ... John Kerry, unfortunately.)
Mar. 3rd, 2007 03:25 am (UTC)
Eliz! What the FUCK does the Episilon symbol do in math? :(
Nothing in High School. Unless you're talking about the other funny E-shaped thing in Set-Theory. If you want to make sure, you can draw it out. XD

Math stuff aside, It's nice to hear about the things that have shaped you. Some things just make so much more sense once you know those couple of stories. You've had an interesting life.
Mar. 4th, 2007 06:56 am (UTC)
I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable,
I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free
because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I

Mar. 4th, 2007 07:38 am (UTC)
I'm an excellent writer that hates math.

Aside from spelling errors, that is.

Hm, another interesting bit of reading.
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )


Mr. Met
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