I am selfish I am wrong

I had just spent the entire morning crying. Well, about an hour and a half or so. I had finally got it under control, and spent the better part of my first lesson period sitting in the office of Dr. J. Novus.1 I had, by the way, no real reason for crying. I just started blubbering for no concious reason. Dr. Novus said stress was involved, and I made an appoinment for the following day. She suggested I quit the course that's been bugging me. I spend the entire lunch period trying, and failing, to complete an overdue assignment. Over the weekend, I had tried finding out what information I had missed by emailing the teacher. Yes, that teacher. This assignment. The assignment she had given us, according to my classmates, was way too easy. Here are the transcripts.


See why I was so frustrated? See?

So I walked into class, after waiting to use some dude's pickax for the entire lunch period, and tell the teacher that she hadn't told us what the assignent was ahead of time. She insisted that she had. I insisted that she hadn't. She insisted that she had. I insisted that she hadn't. She insisted she had. I insisted I had an alibi for the night of the murder. Seriously,
I stared at her, packed up and walked out.

I thank God I don't drive. I would undobtedly have killed someone. Likely a kitten. And I like kittens.

By the time I reached the bus stop, I could bharely see through my tears. And when I cry, I get a migrane. And when I get a migrane, Bad Things Happen. That is all.

About a third of the way home, I realized that I was likely going to be physically sick. I was going to have to cry"BusstipI go'n'bedick" and then lunge for the door, which would open just a little too slow, in slow motion. Then I'd get outside, retch in the gutter, look up, and Agent Smith would try and shoot me.

Sorry,where was I?

I made it home, turned off the alarm, closed the door, stripped off my shirt, dropped my bag, danced the can can, and stumbled into my bathroom. I ran my head under the shower for a while, and eventually stopped crying. Then, because I'm an addict, I went online.

When my father got home, I told him my decision.

I was quitting the class.

[part 2 forthcoming]
1. Not actually her real name.
//I am right, I swear i'm right, swear I knew it all along.


Post a Comment