Yes, I will always allude life to the way technology works. Since I last posted, a few updates have been downloaded. Some have been tried out, others uninstalled, and then reinstalled because of the urgent need of them.
Firstly, I said my first “no” to a shift offer. I had a lot of things to do that day and just couldn’t make it, and saying “no” is one of the hardest things to do because I hate making other people feel disappointed. But it had to be done. And I did it. Fantastic. Still feel like an asshole.
I was one point away from a B on my math test. Considering I didn’t get a chance to study at all with the crazy weekend I had last week, I’m impressed. The class average was 49 points out of 70. I’ll also throw this in for perspective: In the history of my math classes, my first test has always been an F. I’m talking 50% and below. That’s after I studied. So it’s obvious having my tests proctored in a separate room, where its quiet, has really made a huge difference. Why did I get points knocked off? I forgot a ()^2 in a formula, fucked up on the first problem because it was a problem review from a class I haven’t taken in a year and a half, and I forgot a 1/2. So note to self: proctoring in a different room doesn’t help the attention span.
I have to read a book that I hate. It’s collected short stories and fuck me, it makes no sense. None of the short stories make any fucking sense. I want to take this book and shove it up the publishers ass. And all the reviews that say this writer makes others gibber, or that she’s the quintessential fiction writer were obviously written by people bribed. Because fuck this book.
Some peers told me I pay way more attention to detail than other people and therefore think I should tone down some things in my writing. I respectfully agreed and disagreed. I believe there are times I take too long to describe something because in my eyes I see every little thing about it. Someone seeing five things happen in twenty seconds in my eyes is seeing fifty things happen in twenty seconds. I’ve always been that way. Catch me on a bad day and I’ll tell you it’s because I have the ability to manipulate and slow down time. Catch me on a day like today and I’ll tell you it’s just a product of how my brain perceives things.
At the same time: Criticism.
Need I say more?
Criticism can be hard to take, particularly on my writing because of how much of myself I put into it. I took an AP english course in high school. My attitude was this upon entering the classroom:
This was my attitude after two weeks:
Because my teacher was not like a high school teacher, she was like a private university professor. She pushed me harder than any teacher had ever pushed me. She picked on me in class, she embarrassed me in class, she laughed at how quiet I was and poked and prodded at me like I was the village idiot. She scribbled across the bottom of one of my papers that it was horrible and what the hell was I thinking? She didn’t say “hell”, but that was the emotion through her words.
I learned how to take criticism from her: No one tells me my writing is fucking horrible and gets away without me showing them otherwise.
At the end of the year she found me grading papers in the English office. I was a teachers aid. The papers I were reading were fucking horrible by the way.
Anyway, she comes in and leans by me and I stare up at her slowly because I’m already expecting a verbal beat down and whenever I see her I’m always ambiguous about how I should react. She asks me if I’ve decided to apply to the honor society at the college I was going to. I told her no. She said I needed to, that I had the grades for it. She told me I was really smart. She said a few others things too, but I can’t remember. I walked away that day very, very confused.
Another life update: I’m now apart of the honor society.
When I entered another English class at my college, the professor I took was an older woman who really liked to talk. I was always first in her class because I wanted to get the shit over with. The college made me take the class and all the books we were reading and the essays we were writing I’d already done in high school. Anyway, one day she came in and said the name of my old high school teacher. She told me she’d been told I was a great student and writer and that I would be a good addition to the class.
Once again, I left really fucking confused.
Until I realized what that high school teacher did for me.Until I realized she was pushing me my senior year of high school because she knew I wasn’t deaf or mute or stupid. She knew I was smarter than I thought I was. Sometimes you don’t know how much someone affects your life until you start living a little more.
The opportunities I’ve been given are astounding. Working at Second Story (which, by the way, was the first peer respite house in the state of California, seventh in the United States) is by far the crowing jewel. It opened when I was 16 years old. I’m only 21 for fucks sake. How many 21 year old’s have this kind of opportunity? How many 21 year old’s with mental health issues get a chance to be around their own people and learn and grow like I do? How many 21 year old’s get a chance to be in their field before they’d even got a piece of paper saying they’re allowed to? Sometimes I feel like I’ve learned more from guests and coworkers in the short time I’ve been here than I’ve learned from my own parents over 21 years. I don’t know how to feel about that.
And to think a month ago I was ready to quit everything: school, working, life in general.
I have to remember whatever stress I feel has the potential to make me stronger.