(no subject)
Worst day of life
Or half day …
I am pelted by a rock at the end of lunch today, which leaves me bruised and bleeding. Lisa gets up ask who threw the assailant and just storms off, I assume to class. I am almost crying because of the pain but can’t show it because two of the rock pelting comrades have come to examine my head and I have a strong disdain for them. So I am left alone, immensely hurt, to scuttle to my fourth period where I will be taking an exam that ultimately determines my effort and grade in statistics. Consequently I need the ten minutes before the test to study and review, but I enter the class barley unable to hold tears in from the pain from my forehead and a second insult of feeling abandoned and alone when I hurt so much, the emotional outcry of feeling so inadequate to handle the situation, I felt hopeless and helpless. And then Migli rambles about our responsibilities, about how school is our career, about ids. And of course of all moments and all days I am sent done to the office to shell out money for a paper recording my violation. All I want to do is cry, but I can’t in front of others. I can’t in the hall because I run into Danny and must feign a conversation; I can’t in the office because Joe Perla is there as well as more falsely spoken words. I can’t in class. I can’t in school.
Therefore I am now home, weeping for the worst half an hour of my life, which is simply accentuated because I couldn’t feel hurt before now.
Or half day …
I am pelted by a rock at the end of lunch today, which leaves me bruised and bleeding. Lisa gets up ask who threw the assailant and just storms off, I assume to class. I am almost crying because of the pain but can’t show it because two of the rock pelting comrades have come to examine my head and I have a strong disdain for them. So I am left alone, immensely hurt, to scuttle to my fourth period where I will be taking an exam that ultimately determines my effort and grade in statistics. Consequently I need the ten minutes before the test to study and review, but I enter the class barley unable to hold tears in from the pain from my forehead and a second insult of feeling abandoned and alone when I hurt so much, the emotional outcry of feeling so inadequate to handle the situation, I felt hopeless and helpless. And then Migli rambles about our responsibilities, about how school is our career, about ids. And of course of all moments and all days I am sent done to the office to shell out money for a paper recording my violation. All I want to do is cry, but I can’t in front of others. I can’t in the hall because I run into Danny and must feign a conversation; I can’t in the office because Joe Perla is there as well as more falsely spoken words. I can’t in class. I can’t in school.
Therefore I am now home, weeping for the worst half an hour of my life, which is simply accentuated because I couldn’t feel hurt before now.