The search for peace of mind, pt. 2

To begin, there hasn't been much to talk about. Okay, maybe there has, but nothing I would want to talk about here, even if this is the place to rant. My words seem...pointless. Repetitive. Stupid. Laughable. Immature...Haven't checked my mail, haven't read anything, haven't enjoyed anything...My mind is so...


I am so...

Here's the goddamned deal. I've spent the past...what...six months...?...at Gateway. Pretty much worked my ass off, or maybe I didn't; everything seems like a pathetic blur, now. To sum it up, not only did I get straight A's in all four subjects, but I made the Dean's List and have also...received annoying, aggravating pressure from just about every teacher and facilitator I know. As I'd mentioned, my intentions were to get the fuck away from home and go to Job Corps. Yeah. Thing is, since that got out to my teachers, word spread, and to sum it up, I've now not only got the attention of the person who runs this damn program, but I've got one of my frigging state representatives throwing favors at me to stay at Gateway in the fall instead of going to Job Corps. That and also other favors from other important people, including offers of scholarships and lovely shat like that I'd feel like an idiot if I didn't agree to suck up to.

What. The. Fuck.

So. As much as the idea of this is lovely and all, I'd unfortunately not only still be in the same state as I am now, but I'd still be reliant on home. I'd have to keep on frigging coming back here every day. I. don't. WANT. So what to do? 

And this fucking medication I'm on isn't working. It's just easier to grin and bear with it, but lying has always been my specialty, thank you very fucking much. But is it working? No. No, it doesn't seem to be.

As usual.

I'd still so rather just end it, for crying out loud...

And then there's me. Ah, how forgetful I am. Was supposed to call this culinary instructor guy over the weekend, but as usual, I've been forgetting. Now this will be the second time I'll have to face the guy who gave me his number and did this favor for me (he's hooking me up with the culinary guy because he knows I want to be a chef). Even lost the number. Can't remember where I put the damn thing. 

Do I feel like a fool? Yes. Yes, I do. As stupid as an excuse my forgetfulness is, it is a legitimate problem, people. I've apparently inherited it from my father. Yet no one believes me... What I don't get is, why the hell would I be doing this to myself on purpose, assholes?

So.

Feeling like a good wad of shit right now. Nothing new, of course. 

...I know. I get it. Nothing to talk about...