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.


350px-CastielPurgatoryFinals. Oh, how I hate you. Long time, no blog. I can’t leave the building yet, as I have another final at 12:30 (I had one this morning at 8…AM), so I’m sitting in one of the alcoves, full of sunshine, typing. I’m listening to music too but that was sort of a given. Watching people study is sort of like watching people in the bookstores and coffee shops. Some people are obviously not doing anything but trying desperately to hide that fact. Others aren’t even trying to hide it; they’re talking, looking at their phones, anything to keep the books shut. And others are legitimately working…and being greatly annoyed by those of us in the other two categories. That’s okay, though. I like the anonymity of it all (I spelled that right the first time! That never happens!); hiding in plain sight and all that. I have to work tomorrow, after another final, that I haven’t studied for. Exciting.

This week, I was super depressed. I got blown off multiple times by the same person, was left alone a bit too long and spent too much money. I’m sort of like a dog with a credit card. Leave me alone and I’ll buy ten pairs of shoes rather than eat yours in protest. I’m not sure if the emotionality was because of this semester ending; you know I don’t do well with endings. Or if it was because I have major decisions to make. I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. The decisions I speak of: graduate school, to take or not to take the GREs, and what to do about my living situation. Let’s break it down.

Graduate school: Brendan. That’s pretty much the concern there. He’s assured me he will follow me to the ends of the Earth, or Pennsylvania because that’s where I think I’m going, and get a job wherever we land. He’s supportive like only my parents have ever been. It freaks me out sometimes. Other times it’s the best and most perfect thing. He’s not the only issue though. The other problem is uprooting my life to go to school. That means being an adult. Like all the way. Shopping, not having parents within proximity, not having anywhere to run when we fight, not having anywhere to run: period. I’ve lived here my whole life. While it has not provided me with the ample running zone I would like, it has been sufficient. Having an alcove at my parents’ house is perfect for those times I just can’t stand to be in anyone’s company. If I move, that won’t be there. I’m like a baby bird leaving the nest, except the only reason I’m leaving is because I’m being forcefully shoved by society. The GRE problem is pretty much wrapped up in this too. If I go to a school that requires the test, I’ll have to take the test. If I don’t, I’m sure as hell not taking it. I will write a kick-ass essay though. That’s a given. Well, come to think of it. My living situation is sort of wrapped up in this too. Brendan is coming with me, no matter where I go, as he says, but what am I to do now? We live in my grandmother’s house in the middle of nowhere. It’s big and empty and drafty and good. But there’s no Internet. Like, at all. And, as much as I hate to admit it, we are children of the 21st century. We want the Internet (note: I didn’t use the word “need” because we don’t ultimately “need” it but we desperately, desperately want it!). It’s that simple. Having spoken with at least 2 Internet providers (I don’t know if B has talked to anyone), we have gotten no further on the issue. He wants to move but I know he’s reluctant to make that jump without having that tether to the real world. And I get it. But I also don’t want to live without him right now. I have to add the “right now” because I’m such a fluttering flower that I may not agree with myself in 5 minutes!

I’m going to watch Supernatural when I’m finished typing this. I was watching it the other day and it was fueling my depression more than I care to admit. Why? For those of you that don’t watch the show, I’m going to try to sum it up in a few sentences. Dean and Sam Winchester fight otherworldly creatures as a duty to protect humanity from said otherworldly creatures. They receive help along the way, from various human beings, creatures of the kind they hunt, and heavenly bodies. One of these heavenly bodies has played a key role in their success: the angel, Castiel. Now, if you are suddenly compelled to watching this (amazing) show, please skip to the next paragraph, as I am about to spoil some it for you. If you already watch/don’t want to but wish I would shut up and get to the point, keep reading this paragraph. I am Castiel. No, I don’t mean in a vessel-I’m-losing-my-mind-Joan-of-Arc-style. I mean, the character. The struggles, the trials, the tribulations, yadda yadda. Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Cas saves Dean from Hell. Why? Because he knew he had to. It was his duty. Yes, I am aware there is more to it but I’m trying not to totally spoil! Then, he takes on the Leviathan (spelled this right too! YES!) and it ultimately (sort of) destroys him. Then, he survives purgatory without understanding why; he was totally expecting to rot there for the rest of his…whatever. Now, here’s my analogy (it’s me we’re talking about! Of course there was going to be some symbolism!). Cas did what he thought was right (twice) only to have it bite him in the ass. Then, he had the chance to pay for his crimes (though they weren’t really seen that way), he’s saved from that curse and is left to figure it out (I’m only on season 8 so no one spoil it for me as I’m writing this!). I’ve made countless mistakes trying to save other people, myself, whatever and whomever you want to “insert here.” I’ve never been to purgatory so I can’t say that but I was saved from my self-inflicted punishment for some unknown reason. I don’t know what I did to deserve the people that are in my life now but I can tell you, whatever it is, it didn’t happen in this lifetime. My punishment for all the pain I’ve caused, all the people I’ve hurt, all the hell I’ve raised (not in the good way) is having to live with that knowledge. But, like Cas, I’m still left with the confusion of what I did to deserve my saving. I’ve tried to kill myself before. Cas rotted in purgatory. I keep watching the show, hoping he gets some redemption, some relief, so I know that it can happen to me too.

It’s the same reason I read that book, Borderlines by Carol…something or other. That’s what started me on this journey. The divorce from Mara, the craziness that followed. Even the day it happened, I called my mom, crying, wanting to know the end of the book. I needed to know that she survived, she made it, she put her life back together. I keep watching because I need to know if Cas redeems himself. I relate to that with so much of my being, it’s insane. I’m afraid that I will never get to redeem myself, to forgive myself.

It ebbs and flows. Sometimes, I’m just as angry as Dean, just as flustered and frustrated but understanding as Sam. Sometimes, very rarely, I’m happy and carefree like Garth. Most of the time though, I’m pining for forgiveness, some sign that things will be okay despite everything that has happened, like Castiel. B has been my steadfast rock; my constancy through it all. Somehow, he’s forgiven me. Though he wasn’t at the eye of the storm, things were pretty rough on his shore because of me. Now? Now I just need to figure out how to do it for myself.