This is hard to write. Hard to admit, I guess.
In the grand scheme of things – all the horribleness that has assaulted the innocent in the past week – it’s nothing. Less than nothing, and for that I am so grateful. I forget (on a daily basis) how lucky I am.
Selfishly, self-centeredly, I don’t want to admit this. I feel like by being honest and putting this out there that I am inviting disappointment. All of those who have said they were so proud of me, all of those who have told me I was doing the right thing, I feel like this is just a great big middle finger to that.
I got my grades yesterday.
I failed a class.
The rest of them I passed, and that’s about it.
I am not used to this.
Last semester I was on the Dean’s List. I was so proud of myself.
And now, this.
The class wasn’t hard. It just required effort. And the hard truth of the matter is that I didn’t give it the effort.
It was my first semester working and doing school, and I thought it would be cake. School, work, kids. No problem.
I was so cocky, and now because this is my own fault I feel like I’m not even really allowed to be upset over it.
I may never finish school. And it’ll be my own fault.