This is like a record or something, right? I’ve managed to write twice in the same…year! This year is almost over, actually. I’m not finished Christmas shopping, I still haven’t solved the Internet crisis at Sparks and I don’t have a job. I might be getting another babysitting job in January with one of my mom’s coworkers but for now, I’m a free agent. There’s nothing wrong with that though. It means I get to sleep, and clean, and take care of all the stupid little projects that are around the house. I mean, even now, I’m in the library collecting phone numbers and people to contact to do all the minor things around town that I can’t do. Waterproofing the basement, hooking up a better Internet for all mankind, curing AIDS, ya know, that sort of thing.
The semester has finally ended as well and boy, did it go out with the biggest bang it could! I took a history course with a professor I had for Ethics last semester for the sole reason that I liked the professor. I enjoy history, but this class was much more streamlined for history majors than my Ethics course was, although we did discuss a lot of history in that one as well. Hell, we reenacted the Nuremberg Trials. The focus of this course was writing historical analyses. Like I said, not a history major so I’ve never really written papers in that format before. My Ethics course didn’t require papers like that, at least not in such a formal manner so this was totally foreign to me. My professor, that I have the utmost respect for and admire her intellect, gave me an Incomplete as a final grade. I lost it. I went to her office to ask what happened, what I had done wrong and what exactly she wanted in exchange for a real grade. She told me I had tried to pull a fast one on her, that I was trying to get out of writing a good paper because I was a psychology major and not a history major. All in all, she told me my paper was shit and that I was disrespecting her because I thought I could get away with not completing the course requirements. Now, I know y’all don’t actually know me but if you did, you would know that I am not one to cry or one to shy away from hard work. I cried in her office that day. And I mean, cried. I wept to the point that I couldn’t form coherent words or phrases. I was pissed off, not because I hadn’t “gotten away” with something as she kept accusing, but because the hard work I did put in on the piece I turned in was such a shitstorm to her that she made me cry! The cycle just kept going around and around. The more I thought about what had happened, the more pissed and hurt I got. Even Thomas noted that I’m not a crier and that when it comes to constructive criticism I’m pretty thick-skinned. She was not giving me constructive criticism. She was just being mean. I recorded the whole conversation and plan on keeping any correspondence between us until this “I” leaves my transcript. For those of you who have not been in academia rather recently: an incomplete is like a blank space on your transcript. You don’t receive the credit but it doesn’t lower your GPA as if you failed. Instead, at the professor’s discretion, you are granted an indeterminate amount of time to redeem the credit in a way that is also at the professor’s discretion. Basically, the professor has you by the balls until you do what they want. It’s totally bullshit. I was more pissed off at the fact that I’m going through this process again than actually having the Incomplete. I mean, she could have failed me! But she didn’t and for that I am thankful. Though I’m not too happy about having to spend $60 on books on Amazon for a paper. I did this almost every semester when I was at HCC. I would have a mental breakdown and have to either withdraw entirely or take the Incomplete and work it out with my professor. That’s what bothered me. All this way, all this time, all this money…and I’m still fucking up in the worst sort of way. I’m a good writer. That is one thing I have complete confidence in. But now? Now my foundation is shaky. I’m not sure how good a writer I am because I’ve had to withdraw from so many classes, I’ve had to take an “i” in a course that isn’t even related to my major. Frustrated. Angry. Pissed. Hurt. Enraged. None of those begin to cover it.
And then, on top of that, when I went to take my final final of the semester (which was at 10 AM for a 2 PM class), I got an email. All of my emails come to my phone (like 99% of America’s population) so right before the test was handed out, I checked my phone for messages. I had an email on my school account. I swiped it open and it was her. Just the thought of what had happened, her name, her reply, all of it was like a traumatic event all over again. I’m pretty sure I bombed that test because I was so distracted and wrapped up in my head about my history course. My professor for Social Psychology (that was the final I was taking when I was so rudely shoved into an emotional storm) is really nice and has even served as my pseudo-advisor while my school-assigned advisor is on sabbatical. I don’t think she’s so nice though, that she would let me retake the final, completely stress-free and environmentally-safe, without phones and surprise communication with my history professor. That’s asking a bit much.
I just feel so handicapped. When I’m walking with crutches, when I’m using my cane or even my wheelchair, people stare at me. It’s just part of the gig. I don’t like it but I can put on a tough face and take the questions, laugh off the stares and get on with my day. There are certain intellectual topics that I also accept as being part of the wheelhouse I do not belong in. Math, science, things like that are not for me. Never have been, never will be. And I’ve accepted that. Because so much emphasis is put on those subjects though, I’ve been compensating my entire life with useless facts and a superb knowledge of things I am good at. English, writing, history, things like that. For my professor to make me feel stupid isn’t really an accomplishment (I feel stupid a lot actually) but making me feel stupid in something I know I’m good at is a skill. And now I feel so stupid that I can’t do anything. I’ve recoiled so much that I can’t get anything done. I can’t think of anything remotely important without thinking about how I’m doing it wrong or there’s a million better ways to handle it. It’s insane how much one person can affect you.
I’m so sleepy. I took a Oxycotin last night because I was hurting so bad and now I feel like it hasn’t worn off. I’m gonna go home and lie down. And, of course, I look fucking fabulous today but that doesn’t matter because I have nowhere to go.