I don't care about your stupid yellow wallpaper, okay?
I wish my mother would stop overreacting every time the slightest thing is wrong. She can never believe that I am doing okay when I've been fine for weeks. But when something happens, rarely, it's "just like last year," and I hate it. Not everything that goes wrong is like last year. Stop saying that, it makes me feel worse, and I'm going to start believing you, damn it.
I woke up this morning to an argument over my paper, which I was already freaked out about already, and then went to my therapist. My mom is angry because I couldn't work on my paper almost at all the two days I was home because I my back fucking hurt, and now I'm going to be insanely rushed for time and may not finish another assignment. My therapist promised to call my mom and help me by talking to her, but she never did. I guess I shouldn't have expected her to, though. I'm just "a client" and no one special. To her, anyway.
I came home, cried about my paper for an hour. Thought about quitting my job, but didn't. Worked on my paper for a little. And then went to work until 9:30. And now, at 1:45 in the morning, I have 2 and half pages out of 5-7. And 75% of that is random two-sentence paragraphs spread througout the paper that I have no idea how I will connect.
And I am just angry in general today, can you tell? I meant to write about something else entirely, but oh well. I should go to bed, but I'll probably stay up longer and try to write as much as I can. I don't know why, though, as tomorrow will consist entirely of Party America and essay writing also. I am actually looking forward to the school week, for once.
I woke up this morning to an argument over my paper, which I was already freaked out about already, and then went to my therapist. My mom is angry because I couldn't work on my paper almost at all the two days I was home because I my back fucking hurt, and now I'm going to be insanely rushed for time and may not finish another assignment. My therapist promised to call my mom and help me by talking to her, but she never did. I guess I shouldn't have expected her to, though. I'm just "a client" and no one special. To her, anyway.
I came home, cried about my paper for an hour. Thought about quitting my job, but didn't. Worked on my paper for a little. And then went to work until 9:30. And now, at 1:45 in the morning, I have 2 and half pages out of 5-7. And 75% of that is random two-sentence paragraphs spread througout the paper that I have no idea how I will connect.
And I am just angry in general today, can you tell? I meant to write about something else entirely, but oh well. I should go to bed, but I'll probably stay up longer and try to write as much as I can. I don't know why, though, as tomorrow will consist entirely of Party America and essay writing also. I am actually looking forward to the school week, for once.