Here Is My Problem
Ok, I've put my finger on it. I'm used to getting what I want. If I want an A in a class, I get an A. This English class is bothering me so damn much because I'm trying really hard and I'm getting a C. I feel stupid. I'm used to feeling good about that one part of myself, the part that gets good grades. And this C is just throwing shit all out of whack. So right now I'm working on my 2nd English paper. And I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm writing it on this poem:
"Pantoum: The Sturdy Of Worry" By Ron Wallace
In the paper today I read [sic]
about "a sturdy of worry"
at the local psychiatric clinic.
They are prepared to pay money
to study the sturdy who worry
though there's nothing to worry about.
If they're prepared to pay money,
I'll sign up. I worry a lot.
Though there's nothing to worry about,
I'm continually sick to my stomach.
Signing up to worry--my lot
in life. No confidence. No pluck.
I'm continually sick to my stomach.
Meet anxiety, my oldest friend,
Mr. No Confidence, Mr. No Pluck.
But what if my anxiety ends?
If anxiety, my oldest friend,
at the local psychiatric clinic,
ends? What if my anxiety ends?
I read today's paper, worried sick.
I don't know where to begin. I'm at the library, where I've decided to confine myself until I get this bitch done. Because I'll feel infinitely better. And I'm going home tomorrow night. My class on Friday was cancelled. So basically I just need to get this done. And it's only the rough draft too. So why can't I just do it?
All right, I'm getting there. More progress later.
"Pantoum: The Sturdy Of Worry" By Ron Wallace
In the paper today I read [sic]
about "a sturdy of worry"
at the local psychiatric clinic.
They are prepared to pay money
to study the sturdy who worry
though there's nothing to worry about.
If they're prepared to pay money,
I'll sign up. I worry a lot.
Though there's nothing to worry about,
I'm continually sick to my stomach.
Signing up to worry--my lot
in life. No confidence. No pluck.
I'm continually sick to my stomach.
Meet anxiety, my oldest friend,
Mr. No Confidence, Mr. No Pluck.
But what if my anxiety ends?
If anxiety, my oldest friend,
at the local psychiatric clinic,
ends? What if my anxiety ends?
I read today's paper, worried sick.
I don't know where to begin. I'm at the library, where I've decided to confine myself until I get this bitch done. Because I'll feel infinitely better. And I'm going home tomorrow night. My class on Friday was cancelled. So basically I just need to get this done. And it's only the rough draft too. So why can't I just do it?
All right, I'm getting there. More progress later.