Something completely boring
This isn't interesting, because I'm not trying to make it interesting. My only reason in writing it is self-pity, and the fact that I'm too furious to sleep.
Up until tonight, I was on a plateau. I'd been feeling inexplicably good about everything; melancholy about leaving, maybe, but increasingly happy about things. My exams were going well, I was going to be home soon, I had had a full semester, and best of all I had arranged to see some old friends in Chicago before going back to Arkansas. Aerik, Jessica, and Mike, whom I haven't seen together more than once or twice since the days at ASMS...it was going to be so good. So, so good. And then tonight I discover that my bank card is missing. I know exactly when it happened. Last night when I was making copies, I accidentally left my wallet at the internet cafe; I realized this and returned within ten minutes to retrieve it, and they cheerfully reunited me with it. It wasn't until a few hours ago that I realized the bank card was missing. So I get online to try to see if anyone's been trying to use the card, and because it's only the second time I've ever used the online banking website, I get the password wrong three times in a row. The fourth time it's the right password, but the website informs me that because I entered the wrong password three times previously, my account is now locked and I can't access any information about it until I can provide additional verification. So, not only did I stupidly leave my bank card in an internet cafe, I then locked myself out of my own bank account. Well, I was pretty upset about this, but my plans were still possible because I have saved one hundred dollars (US) all semester long for an emergency. I could still get to Chicago and live (although cheaply) for a few days on that $100 and still chip in on gas when Jessica drove back to Arkansas for Christmas. I go to my room, unlock my cabinet, and realize I can't find the $100 anywhere. It's gone. Very, very, very gone. Someone -- my roommate? a "friend"? a stranger with a room key? who knows? -- must have unscrewed the hasp of the lock and replaced it without me knowing.
So now I have the equivalent of about thirty dollars, which will last me for five more days here and maybe buy me a cheap sandwich in the airport en route to Arkansas. And no gifts for anyone back home.
I feel incredibly cheated -- not just out of the money, but out of my happiness. This has been a really bad semester for me, in ways that few people know about. I've spent most of it stewing in guilt and self-hatred, and it's only been in the past three weeks or so that I've felt like I'm walking again. These incidents just seem specifically designed to break my knees. And the worst part is that it's all basically my fault. The first time by carelessness (in not checking my wallet after getting it back), the second time by stupidity, and the third by negligence (in not hiding my money more carefully). It's like someone left a big gift basket outside my door with a card that says "Don't Forget - You're Still a Huge Fuck Up!" Any sense of optimism I've had lately is pretty much crushed. Sorry to be dramatic, but it's the truth. I obviously don't deserve any better, though, if I can't muster the personal responsibility necessary to take care of my own life. I've proven myself incompetant and childish in the past, again and again, and every time I think I'm taking steps in the direction of self-sufficiency, maturity, or responsibility, something like this shows me the truth: I'm a child. A stupid child.
Up until tonight, I was on a plateau. I'd been feeling inexplicably good about everything; melancholy about leaving, maybe, but increasingly happy about things. My exams were going well, I was going to be home soon, I had had a full semester, and best of all I had arranged to see some old friends in Chicago before going back to Arkansas. Aerik, Jessica, and Mike, whom I haven't seen together more than once or twice since the days at ASMS...it was going to be so good. So, so good. And then tonight I discover that my bank card is missing. I know exactly when it happened. Last night when I was making copies, I accidentally left my wallet at the internet cafe; I realized this and returned within ten minutes to retrieve it, and they cheerfully reunited me with it. It wasn't until a few hours ago that I realized the bank card was missing. So I get online to try to see if anyone's been trying to use the card, and because it's only the second time I've ever used the online banking website, I get the password wrong three times in a row. The fourth time it's the right password, but the website informs me that because I entered the wrong password three times previously, my account is now locked and I can't access any information about it until I can provide additional verification. So, not only did I stupidly leave my bank card in an internet cafe, I then locked myself out of my own bank account. Well, I was pretty upset about this, but my plans were still possible because I have saved one hundred dollars (US) all semester long for an emergency. I could still get to Chicago and live (although cheaply) for a few days on that $100 and still chip in on gas when Jessica drove back to Arkansas for Christmas. I go to my room, unlock my cabinet, and realize I can't find the $100 anywhere. It's gone. Very, very, very gone. Someone -- my roommate? a "friend"? a stranger with a room key? who knows? -- must have unscrewed the hasp of the lock and replaced it without me knowing.
So now I have the equivalent of about thirty dollars, which will last me for five more days here and maybe buy me a cheap sandwich in the airport en route to Arkansas. And no gifts for anyone back home.
I feel incredibly cheated -- not just out of the money, but out of my happiness. This has been a really bad semester for me, in ways that few people know about. I've spent most of it stewing in guilt and self-hatred, and it's only been in the past three weeks or so that I've felt like I'm walking again. These incidents just seem specifically designed to break my knees. And the worst part is that it's all basically my fault. The first time by carelessness (in not checking my wallet after getting it back), the second time by stupidity, and the third by negligence (in not hiding my money more carefully). It's like someone left a big gift basket outside my door with a card that says "Don't Forget - You're Still a Huge Fuck Up!" Any sense of optimism I've had lately is pretty much crushed. Sorry to be dramatic, but it's the truth. I obviously don't deserve any better, though, if I can't muster the personal responsibility necessary to take care of my own life. I've proven myself incompetant and childish in the past, again and again, and every time I think I'm taking steps in the direction of self-sufficiency, maturity, or responsibility, something like this shows me the truth: I'm a child. A stupid child.