29 October 2002 ~ Tuesday ~ On how nothing, nothing, is going right...

So I had to turn in this essay today -- it's not the greatest thing I've ever written, but it's pretty damned good.

Before we turned in our papers, the professor had us get into groups of three, and exchange papers, then write comments on each other's work.

Both of the other papers I looked at were like, just utter crap. They were just kind of free-writing exercises. Neither of the students understood how to make a complete sentence. At ALL. The teachers gave specific instructions to circle technical errors and give constructive feedback. In other words, if something sucked, make a note of it, and suggest a way to make it better. So... I did. No rocket science there.

Anyway, one of the other students saw me writing a LOT on her paper, and accused -- rather rudely: "Geez, you're long-winded. What's your problem?"

My problem was that I was DOING THE ASSIGNMENT, which was to help her make her paper better. Wasn't my fault it sucked. I didn't TELL her it sucked. I told her it was a good start. It WAS a good start, I mean, if she'd written it while she was stoned or something. What's my PROBLEM? What a whiny little bitch!

So, she's looking voer my shoulder the ENTIRE time I'm making these corrections and suggestions, and she starts ATTACKING my paper. First of all, she obviously didn't know what, like, half of the words meant. She said I used "too many quotes from the books" and accused me of being an ass-kissing teacher's pet. Cripes! She hadn't used ANY quotes from the texts! She started quoting the fucken BIBLE and shit! She copied, verbatim, about a quarter of a BOOK of the Bible, and called it an essay. Then she started attacking slavery. And white people. Evidently, this chick, who by all appearances, is white, hates white people. The topic of her paper was "justice," not race. Nor the Bible.

So she writes all these completely stupid comments on my paper. She crossed out all my citations and told me I did them all wrong, which I didn't. She put commas in places where commas would simply cry out, vocally, to be deleted. This is a chick who can't string a SENTENCE together. And she's getting on my case about things that are RIGHT in MY paper, just because I happened to MENTION, as I was assigned, that she had some errors she might think about correcting.

Then she asked where I was from. I told her. She said, "Well, then you must be one of those crazy people. Everyone from upstate New York is crazy." I asked her what she meant. She said: "I mean, you're crazy. You're all crazy." She glared at me.

What the fuck did I DO to her? Before today, I never spoke a word to this girl! I wasn't MEAN to her about her paper, just honest. And not even brutally honest. If I was brutally honest, I would have told her to rewrite it, because it sucked ass. As it was, I told her she had some good ideas (which she really didn't) and she could take them further with a little more organization and some help with her sentences... And she just started jumping all over me! Man, that's just fucking STUPID. And rude!

Will somebody please, for the love of gahd, inform everybody on this entire campus that CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM is not MEANNESS? I'm sick of this hurt-feelings bullshit! If you misspell a word, you should be happy that somebody BOTHERED to correct it so you don't turn in your paper looking like a jackass who can't spell! Right? Am I right?

* * * * * * * * * * *

What the fuck?

Like I need any more stress, right?

I need somebody to talk to, and I have no phone card.

Why am I letting stupid shit like THIS bother me, when I'm allegedly handling everything else so well?

One minute, I feel like giggling, and the next minute I feel like yelling at people that they're stupid whiny bitches. Maybe I've just cracked under all the pressure.

The trouble today started when I couldn't find any spinach at the cafeteria. I wanted fucking spinach, dammit. I wanted lots and lots of spinach with lots and lots of blue cheese dressing on it. And that just started everything going badly. Then the class discussion after lunch went into territories I TOTALLY DID NOT WANT TO DISCUSS. People are so fucking objective; "well, if I were in this particular situation..." Well, you're fucking not, and I fucking am, dammit, and you have NO right to be talking about what you'd do, because you have NO IDEA what this is like, and everything sucks, and I just wanted some SPINACH.

Doesn't help that I'm not smoking right now... I think the patch wore out. I want a cigarette, but I seriously mean it this time, I'm quitting.

I just want some spinach and a cigarette, dammit to hell.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Any minute now, I'll wake up and this will have all been a dream.

It'll be January 5th, 2002. I will be standing in front of the dorms at Evergreen, just after sundown. It will be raining. Everything will smell fresh and beautiful. I will go upstairs to my new room. I will unpack my few belongings. I will lie down on my bed, and try to read a boring-ass Stephen King book I bought somewhere near Ellensburg on the bus out here. I will get bored with the book, and I will go sit outside with a cigarette and a pen. I will write a love letter to Norman, and I will tell him all about the rain, even though he already knows all about the rain. I will say: this is the most beautiful my life has ever been. I will write: "Smell those Douglass Firs!" at the bottom. I will draw a dorky-assed smiley-face. I will fall asleep. And I will wake up to go to class. To learn. To make new friends in my beautiful new home.

Any minute now, I'll wake up.

Any minute now...

I'm very afraid. Things are so very bleak right now. And I don't foresee any end to it, ever. EVER. This would be a very, very good time for somebody who loves me -- really loves me -- to come over to my house and hold me, and lie to me and tell me everything will be okay.

I want my mom.

I want my mom to put me to bed and bring me some tea. I don't feel good. I want her to tell me stories about when I was little, so I can pretend I'm still little. Because when you're little, you don't have to deal with anything on your own.

Please, somebody just email me or something? Somebody just TALK to me? Especially those of you who KNOW your words are needed...

~Helena*

PS -- As a good portion of you originally came to this site because of a newspaper article that basically labelled me a kook and strongly implied I was going to imminently off myself, I guess I'd better mention that none of this is a suicide threat. Just PLEASE don't try "talking me out of it" or whatever, because I'm not going to do anything drastic; I'm just going to go home, sit in my house, and freak the fuck out. A lot. That's all.