Painting boxes...

If I have to paint one more freaking square in a disgusting pastel, I'm gonna have to go postal on my entire hippie, geek, street art school. I will! Damn it, I will. Okay, I don't blame my classmates at all... But damn, people, DAMN! I am terrible at painting...AWFUL. I know this, I've always known this...stick me in Design, I know what I'm doing, in Drawing I'm all good. All the other classes are know nothing jokes in relation to art...I mean, really. I do just fine. BUT HOLY HELL ON A TUESDAY!!! If I have to face the smirk of that instructor one more time, and have him tell me that I'm not doing something right without actually attempting to teach me anything...I'm throwing a hissy fit. Rage, rage....anger! I came to school to learn, not to be condescended to and glowered at by the king of sarcasm. Usually, I find anger to be a release...I rage and am better. It's good for my soul, but this mess of a situation is leaving me more bitter than anything else. It makes me want to immaturely pick up and leave, to start stupid arguments...the notion is enticing. I hold my tongue, of course, take the criticism as well as to be expected and then I stew in a disgusting mix of bitter spices. He says it's not technically a painting class. Oh, really? Then let's try some other medias! How about markers? Colored pencils? Pastels? Anything, this is a multifaceted world...let's try something else. I would be more willing to paint is someone would teach me how, as of now I am a blocky comic book artist...and that's about it. Don't mind me, I'm just wandering into the stage of the resentful, world hating art student. Why can't the world be better? You know what, let's boil it down to this, why can't my school be better?