stupid fruit
So... APRICOT. What a fucking waste of time that was. Seriously. I pitch up half an hour early (for once there was no traffic) and so I'm on time. I have to wait ten minutes...
First, Goode thinks I'm retaking SECOND year. uh, no... I'm retaking first year. Now, I'm not entirely sure why I'm there, having only got told to be there yesterday afternoon. They're not sure why I'm there. I explain about the being ill, and Goode gets suspicious. I explain that no, I was sick as a parrot, in hospital, the full whammy on that one. He didn't know. What is it about my university that members of the same fucking panel don't even speak to each other?
I then discover that due to them not having much of a clue, they're not sure if they have a free place for me this term. Apparently they'll have one by january, because someone always drops out, but they don't know about this term. I thought this was what the fucking meeting was about!
To put the icing on the fucking cake, Goode then suggests I'd like to look at my study skills. I explain that there's nothing wrong with my fucking study skills - I was ill, not skiving - and that I have depression. This means I struggle. He tells me the depression is probably caused by stress (shit sherlock, you mean this is what I've been trying to understand since I was fourteen years olf - that stress makes me depressed?! I never thought of that!) and that improving my study skills would reduce the stress. I'll tell them what'll make me fucking stressed - being shut in a room and patronised by fucking Belinda Tamagotchi or whatever the fuck her name is.
The entire meeting took ten minutes. It's a round hour's trip to uni and back, and I went for a ten minute meeting to be told that my uni haven't yet managed to pull thier collective fingers out of thier collective arses and figure out what they're going to do with me. Christ on a stick, how much longer am I going to have to wait?
First, Goode thinks I'm retaking SECOND year. uh, no... I'm retaking first year. Now, I'm not entirely sure why I'm there, having only got told to be there yesterday afternoon. They're not sure why I'm there. I explain about the being ill, and Goode gets suspicious. I explain that no, I was sick as a parrot, in hospital, the full whammy on that one. He didn't know. What is it about my university that members of the same fucking panel don't even speak to each other?
I then discover that due to them not having much of a clue, they're not sure if they have a free place for me this term. Apparently they'll have one by january, because someone always drops out, but they don't know about this term. I thought this was what the fucking meeting was about!
To put the icing on the fucking cake, Goode then suggests I'd like to look at my study skills. I explain that there's nothing wrong with my fucking study skills - I was ill, not skiving - and that I have depression. This means I struggle. He tells me the depression is probably caused by stress (shit sherlock, you mean this is what I've been trying to understand since I was fourteen years olf - that stress makes me depressed?! I never thought of that!) and that improving my study skills would reduce the stress. I'll tell them what'll make me fucking stressed - being shut in a room and patronised by fucking Belinda Tamagotchi or whatever the fuck her name is.
The entire meeting took ten minutes. It's a round hour's trip to uni and back, and I went for a ten minute meeting to be told that my uni haven't yet managed to pull thier collective fingers out of thier collective arses and figure out what they're going to do with me. Christ on a stick, how much longer am I going to have to wait?