Motivation


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It's been an odd weekend.

My parents and I had another fight, about the low grades I'm getting. My last test in the only class I'm taking this semester got a score of 63. My parents were disappointed, and rant rant rant. I pointed out that they never listened to me. They asked what I wanted to say.

I had nothing.

I told them that I didn't know what to talk about, and they said I should talk about that. I honestly don't know where I want to go, or what to do to get there.

I know where I want to end up. There's a difference.

A few days ago, one of the ex-workers at our store came in and asked if we had FF12. I had no idea what his name was. I knew who he was, I remembered his face, he had only stopped working there two months ago, and bupkis. After he left, I went home asking myself what the heck was wrong with me. This is not an isolated occurence; people frequently come into the store that I met in COB earlier this year, and I don't even remember their faces.

I doubt it's because I'm a right-brainer. It's because I don't care. I can't bring myself to care much about anyone who isn't me. Without caring, it doesn't register.

It's also why I get no schoolwork done.

As my mother has told me several times, I need to stop coasting.

I'm smart. I know this. Yes I've spent the entirety of my life leaving what little studying or work there was to be done until the last minute. Not a winning strategy. I always promised myself I'd two it two weeks out. Then one week. Then three days. Then I'm brushing my teeth and the sight of a textbook jogs my memory.

The thing is, I haven't been able to make myself try. I haven't been able to care enough about my work to get up off my rear and get 'r done. Until recently.

I've been buildng up frustration over how little work I've been getting done, and using it to power me through said work. I get 'r done so I won't have to do it. Not healthy.

His name was Antwone.

Several years ago, my parents informed me that they wouldn't let me go off to school right after HS because I wasn't mature enough. I wonder what would've happened if I had yell, and screamed, and tried to make myself mature so I could prove them wrong.

If I had cared.

And here I find myself taking courses I hate, in a college that sucks, and dividing mytime between a mediocre job, useless schoolwork, and perpetually-unfinished art. My family doesn't have nearly enough money to get me through college, I don't know what I'd do once I'd have the degree, and I have no real friends.

What I need is to make myself care.

Maybe I should start to cook.
// to the left, to the left

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