I don’t want to write my essay. I’m doing everything right, I got a good night of sleep, and I woke up slowly, and I got my coffee. I’m back in bed with my laptop all ready to write, but I just don’t want to. I was on a roll with this assignment, I had done all of the the parts, I had done them well. Then, my good-for-nothing class started complaining and wanting more time for the assignment. Long story short: more time for the assignments was not given, but a revised and severely culled assignment sheet was posted. I was livid. The parts that they took away I had already spent hours writing, I had done everything right, I was being an awesome “self-manager”, a role model to my students, perhaps. But as soon as they fucked me (and quite a few other class members) over, I lost interest. It’s bullshit because those class members who did this bullshit will be rejoicing and will have already written their fantastic assignments. There is not a bone in my body that has any tolerance for injustice.
So what have I done this weekend in place of being responsible and doing my work? I got drunk with my friend, walked into town to find her friend, got picked up by two guys from Dubai, went to their apartment which was thirteen floors up and had an amazing view of Auckland city, smoked weed and shisha, had a dance, and made out with my friend’s friend. We then walked home, only to find my flat mate back from the cook islands, high as fuck, cooking some food with his friends. It was four am by this point. When everyone else was gone I stayed up to talk to my flat mate, we usually have great yarns, we have a lot in common. But this night was different, and it made me really sad, we could not talk. I went to bed at five am. I woke up sad the next day and stayed sad. I went to work. I video called my ex-girlfriend. I binged on Burger King and peanut butter toast, and I failed to purge. I cleaned the whole house in tears, lonely and un-pretty. I went to bed.
Sometimes I just want someone. Not someone to fuck, someone to love, and someone to ground me. But I guess I wouldn’t be doing such crazy, story-creating things if I had that someone. It’s just a nice thought. I know I am better off alone. At the same time though I am starting to carry an extraordinary amount of guilt, because I am not just an English major anymore, I am a training teacher, it feels wrong that I am so not right and yet am going to be qualified to teach little souls. I am only nineteen though, why should I not do these things?