Memoirs of Introduction to Quantum Physics

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The first thing you did when you met me was groan. Not the sexually aroused kind of groan, mind you; it was the kind of noise people make when they realised that they had to redo the entire titration because they had missed the colour change and thusly the titration point.

Although I wasn't that surprised at your reaction – your friends had the exact same expression on their faces when they met my friends too – it would be a lie to say that I was wasn't hurt at all by your blatant dislike. But I told myself that you would come around. You needed me. And I was there to help.

As I had expected, year end came around and you began to seek me out, desperate for some enlightenment which you think I could give you. I tried to help you, I really did! But no matter how many times I repeated and explained and repeated, nothing goes into your head. I could see that you were frustrated but honestly, you only have yourself to blame. You should woulda coulda approached me earlier in the year; but you didn't.

As time flew by and your doomsday loomed, your anxiety got worse and had your brain all jumbled up. You got irritated so very easily and I often fear that you might actually physically hurt me. Despite all this, I still maintained my stance – I was there to help you and help you, I will.

You, however, did not seem very appreciative of me. Each time we interacted, you would have a deep scowl on your face and after a while, curses would start flying around. Sometimes, things got so bad that you would me knock off onto the ground. I always recovered though. Falling onto the ground really not that much of a big deal. No irreversible harm done.

But still! I tried to help you and that was what I got from you? Wonderful manners, boy.

Thankfully enough, the tremulous period soon passed and you got through your doomsday relatively unscattered. In celebration, you went out to play football, flirt with girls and partied. I was, of course, forgotten.

In retrospect, being left unattended was much better than where I am now - at the bottom of the recycle bin with my foreign counterparts stacked on top of me.

What's worst, he forgot to take my staple out.*

Thanks a lot, jerk.


A/N:

* In case you didn't know, you're supposed to take the staple which holds the pieces of papers together before dumping the papers into the recycle bin.

I have a test in less than 7 hours' time and for some reason, here I am, writing a story about an abused set of notes. Probably because I felt bad at cursing at cursing at my notes - which unfortunately, doesn't help at all; I still don't understand a single shit that I'm reading!