Hello Stress.

How do you say goodbye to this face?! (Picture courtesy of one of my wonderful friends)

Yesterday was the big day. I packed up my bags, kissed Bemis on the head, and waved goodbye to my family as I headed back to school, my tiny dorm, communal showers, and Judy. While I assumed starting classes again might be a tad tiring, I didn’t think I would be this stressed out.

Let me explain… When I figured out that I would actually be getting the surgery, I had to e-mail the Dean of Students. Of course, he was non-responsive and left me to figure out the best way to communicate with my professors. Three out of five answered and were a big help, one never deemed me worthy of a response, and one basically said “fuck off”. I chose to drop the last two. The former professor’s class was known to be difficult and missing two weeks could make me fail anyways. The latter was just a conceited prick, making the thought of enduring his class sound less fun than a paper cut in the eye (which I will let you know has happened to be). After I e-mailed my professors, copying the Dean of Students as I did so, was when he reached out to help. I informed him of my dropping two classes and nothing was said.

Fast forward to last night… I’m carrying in bag after bag, random item after random item, all by myself. My parents had been willing to help, but I knew they had enough to do at home and after Judy’s nice text over break about working on being better friends, I assumed I’d have some sort of help. Yes, I did bring a lot of bags. Mostly because all I had were a bunch of tiny bags. Partially because I took way too much stuff home, including my comforter that fit into its own garbage bag. During one of my trips back to my car, I stopped to say hi to one of my friends who happens to be an RA. She tells me how she’s stressed out, and I make a joke about my nine hours. She stops. Apparently, my nine hours keeps me from being a full-time student and therefore, could majorly impact my housing. WTF. Why didn’t anyone feel like mentioning this to me beforehand?! Yes, I knew nine hours was a slacker load. However, it’s not my fault they didn’t want to work with the cripple. Also, my mom and grandma both spent a ton of time telling me I shouldn’t push it due to my recent surgery. I planned to take a CLEP exam to keep up hours anyways, though.

Go to Google Images. Type in stress. Laugh your ass off.

So now, here I sit… waiting on the oh so helpful Dean of Students to reply to my e-mail. Otherwise, I’m showing up at his office tomorrow. Sometimes, it’s really hard to keep my head up and focus on the positives. Guess I’ll start looking for another class. Oh yeah, that requires a late-add form… which involves the mother effin’ DEAN OF STUDENTS.

Oh, and did I mention how Judy took it upon herself to mock me and my nine hours, within probably two hours of me being back in the dorm. Not only did she not help me, the girl who recently had disc material sucked out of her back, but she had to let me know she was better than me because she’s taking seventeen credit hours. Whoop-di-fuckin-dee. Can someone please explain to her that she’s healthyy?! And that unfortunately, I have the back of a seventy year old?!?! All of her bitchiness in the past 24 hours led to a historic event. My mother used the c-word for the very first time. I do believe it was much deserved.

Lesson for the Day: Sometimes life sucks. Just find a bright side. For example, I walked into the lobby to see a list of students in our building who got above a 3.5 GPA last semester. I saw my name, but not Judy’s. HAH.


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