What is wrong with me


Get ready…this is one of those pessimistic posts which drives everyone crazy and which i have no excuse for as i don’t even believe in catharsis.

I managed to balloon what should have been maximum five pages of paper into ten pages. I am incapable of not doing the utmost legwork possible on history papers and have had to adjust my countdown accordingly. It went up by three pages and i managed to write nine yesterday. I am a moron.

Hanging out with Eric on a Saturday night in Laval is both a good and bad thing. Good because it gets me out of the house…bad because not only does it remind me that i USED to spend all my week-ends goofing off with Steve (and yes, i have been thinking about him on a daily basis lately) but also emphasizes my lack of anything non-scholastic going on.

Don’t get me wrong. I love being a humanities student. I’m passionate about the work. I love being able to satisfy my curiousity. I just wish there was time to do more…that i had something else to talk about other than papers, classes, people from school and my family.

Speaking of family, my father decided to try and pre-guilt me out of accepting any job offers outside of Montreal during the summer. I love the logic…NOT (so Grade Five). Living at home i have no car and, thus, am pretty much stuck to working in the Chabanel district, at CIJR downtown (for a pittance), or in Blainville for minimum-wage. I am not going to spend the summer working in telemarketing again. I just get fat and can’t do anything working until 10pm five days a week. My father, however, is aware that he cannot afford to pay for my rent and food, let alone my tuition fees, if (and i’m still hoping) i get accepted to U of T. I am unclear why i should condemn myself to working 20 hours/week to live while completing a masters’. They won’t even tell me how much they feel they will be able to help, but want me to let them know how much i would need from them. Of course, that puts all the responsibility for their financial planning on my shoulders and, frankly, i can’t do it. I NEVER ask my parents for money. I haven’t since i was…well, never. There was no point in seeing that look of utter failure in their eyes when i would ask for money and they couldn’t give it to me. There was a reason i wandered around town on days off school collecting beer bottles and aluminium cans left in parks. Furthermore, any help they do give me would be in one lump sum, which, anyone who has lived off a lump sum will know (hello my situation right now) is a huge stress. EVERY penny makes you feel guilty. EVERY week is another budget that you can’t adhere to.
Yes, he doesn’t want me to fly the coop earlier than need be – but he isn’t putting anything else on the table other than a huge wad of guilt and it makes me fucking mad. Grrr…
Countdown: 93 pages


One thought on “What is wrong with me

  1. I’m glad I, at least, remind you more of Steve than of Dad.
    As for a social life, the last time I went for coffee in Laval was… well… around this time last year… with you. I hadn’t written any of my essays by then either! Stop distracting me, Circe! I have a long way to go still.

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