Two Tears In A Bucket

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This is how I flush the toilet. When I’m not heading for the tub for water to flush, I discover that mice have climbed on top of my Microfridge to eat the bread I had to ask my younger brother to help me pay for, the cable and internet service I enjoyed in the past have been cut off, and plumbing is now considered a luxury.

Not to be outdone, Howard University did its typical dick over only in new, more complicated and annoying ways.

I don’t have any money to think, much less eat, and I waited in line for nearly two hours (on top of the other two hour lines that day) to discover my schedule will be far too difficult to do one in a single semester so I will be stuck in D.C. for two.

Currently sitting in the library forgetting about the original reason why I came in here because I just found out one option for new housing is no longer one. I’m multi-tasking – also silently hoping that the holds on my account that the people in student accounts admitted are of no fault of mine are finally removed. Pleading up above that the millionth loan I’ve had to take out to pay for this massive nearly five-year long headache has finally been disbursed so that I can find a new place to live. Oh yeah, and actually live, too.

Back home I’m hearing stories of other siblings and friends going through worse. I never feel better when someone tells me that there’s always someone out there worse off than you. That only makes me feel even worse for the next person suffering.

Someone earlier in the week told me I was depressing them. Someone else asked me to smile. Yes, that’s the type of feedback you want from your friends.

“You never come to D.C. with the right attitude.” When this person comes to D.C. they’re on Cloud Nine. When I come I get guns pointed in my face, and I black out from all of the stress I’m under. That stress usually stems from trying to figure out how to pass my classes when the place you’re living in continuously has its lights turned off.

I should have found a new place to live. That is my fault. As is foolishly attempting to tackle a 42-credit course load in a single year. Those were all my mistakes, and I’m still paying for them. I don’t make apologies for them. It’s mostly my fault (the other portion goes to Dick Over University), so it is what it is.

But come on, let me be down. I’m trying to move. I get back in every single line I have to get into to get things done (which they’ll only fuck up again, but I digress). As bad as I’d like to at times (even after knowing I could have a job), I’m not dropping out. And despite someone telling me all I ever do is talk about myself, I listened to my good friend for two hours last nite pour their heart out. Selfish (and depressing) me.

I’m not including the debt that’s hitting me from all sides. I should have gone to school in Texas. I would be driving a Lexus if I did.

This blog entry really serves no purpose other than just letting me vent my frustrations. I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m alone. I’m not smiling and I’m not apologizing for it.

Everyone can’t be strong all the time.

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