Zombie bites.

I had a strange dream last night. It was shot (my dreams are like movies) like an episode of BlackBox TV. All I can remember are zombies. Zombies and the feeling of raw terror unlike anything I've ever experienced in real life. At the end of the dream, a female zombie bit me, on my shoulder. I touched the jagged, deep bite, my eyes widened in horror at the 'camera', I could feel pain, and then I woke up, chest heaving, covered in sweat.
I spent most of the morning thinking about where my subconsious could possibly have come up with that idea, when I remembered the game Boxhead, which I described in an earlier post. What a curious dream.
Today was fine. Our school AIG teacher, for the first time in about two months, came to see our geometry class of five. I think she may have forgotten about us, because yesterday I borrowed a textbook from her. I told her that the English teacher has been making me read Holocaust books, and I've also been reading Lolita and Catcher in the Rye. At this, she asked me, if, 'Lolita and Catcher in the Rye are Holocaust books?' Tell me, Mrs. AIG teacher, did you attend college? You did? Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that.
Really, though? You haven't even heard of Catcher in the goddamn Rye? Ever? You're an AIG teacher, for the love of god. Jesus fucking christ.
We took a test on the Holocaust book, 'I Have Lived A Thousand Years' (which we shall, from this point on, refer to as IHLATY. I find the title to be cumbersome.) today. I remembered more than I thought I might, though I finished quite early. I pulled out my book to read, and who should appear by my side but my English teacher herself? Goody.
Basically, she spends the rest of the class telling me what she didn't like about my answers. (Although she did, curiously, let me change some of them) There's this thing about her, where, at the moment when you're talking to her, you know that she's full of shit but you can't quite come up with the words to point that out to her, so you end up just nodding and saying 'Okay'. Therefore, she walks away thinking that she has won, which is deeply frustrating. She also seems to want to make eye contact, constantly. It's somewhat unsettling and I end up looking for something to stare at, like a book or a piece of paper, when I talk to her.
She told me that she wasn't going to give me credit for my answer to the test question, 'Now that you've learned about the Holocaust, what do you consider to be your unbearable burden?' The italics and bold are hers, not mine. So my answer was, basically, that I don't have an unbearable burden, because I have never experienced something as extraordinary and terrible as the author of this book.
She tells me that that's not what she was looking for, so of course I'm pissed, but somehow end up just nodding and saying 'Okay.' What the fuck did she want me to put for that goddamn question? FUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK. FUCKFUCKFUCK. I don't know... everything about her just really pisses me off. I fantasize about writing an anonymous note on the last day of school that simply says, 'Fuck you.'
That would be so fucking great. I couldn't do it though. I care too much about my future.
There used to be these two girls in my P.E. class that would just sit. All class period, just sit on the floor. The teachers never seemed to say anything, except for my teacher's awkward attempt at conversation one time. So I wondered, what would I do if I just didn't give a fuck? It's certainly a question to ponder.
EDIT- I just counted how many times I used the word 'fuck' in the last three posts, including this one. 28.