"I don't need you
to tell me I'm acting like a fool..."

To cut the crap, I've never really got along well with my instructor since the time I got off the plane here. Actually, to rephrase that, 'I' thought that we'd be more at home sitting in on a high school debating team...

He's like this wart in the sole of my foot that doesn't want to go away at all. And everytime I put my foot down to take the next step, I get this uncomfortable feeling shooting up my spine. Almost to the point where I'd be happy to just amputate the foot, and hop around like a frickin flamingo.

And it went on like this for all eternity (minus a few years), till the day when we met outside the office for a few drags on the fag. For some reason, I felt compelled to tell him exactly how I felt about the proceedings. He obliged, and proceeded then to explain his point of view on how we're progressing on the proceedings.

All of a sudden, I just came to the realization that:

Maybe, maybe I'm just a little bit too paranoid...