When I am in class and class ends at 3:20 and started at 2:30 (and at 2:45 I thought it would never end) and at 3:15 I got hit by this wave of bliss that I made it, and it is 3:21 when someone finishes translating a line that is two very long sentences away from the end of the assigned reading, and the professor says, “Well, let’s just finish it,” and I consider yelling, “Well, fuck you” although I like my professor, or maybe just getting up and leaving class really loudly and dramatically, because I stayed for the whole class and I sat really still, well not really still but I am still alive and so is everyone else in the class, possibly someone has looked at me for shaking and possibly there is some blood on my face and my hair bizarrely feels like it has been underwater, but possibly not, anyway I did it, here I am, but it’s not fair because my schedule says I’m allowed to go but she just fucking decided that someone has to translate all these other lines even though usually we don’t finish the assigned reading if we don’t have time, and I am so, so, so spitting mad that I write down the translation (which I haven’t done) very sloppily in my notebook with the pressure of my pen and my hand sort of slumping against the page, because writing it this way it feels like a weapon and it feels like if I could kick the legs of the table or something else I can’t do
I am so, so worried I’m going wrong again.
Admittedly I got sick and lost the whole weekend so of course I haven’t gotten my bearings very well but I. Can’t. Do. This. I can’t be like this. If I am really like this for the rest of my life, I can’t do it, I won’t be this person, I refuse to feel this way.