Proof I’m Learning Stuff

Well, at least about writing.

I got a paper back tonight. My first of the semester that wasn’t French. It earned an A. Nice surprise, considering I’d written it in a big hurry, pretty much until just before it was due.

A year ago, I don’t think I would have written a first paper – in that manner – that would have done as well.

I’m becoming way too comfortable with procrastination.

Also, I’ve learned just not to write about Jane Austen.

So far, I’ve gotten A’s and A-‘s on French papers.

My first French grammar midterm earned a B+ (89% – so close!), which relieved me. I remember leaving the testing center thinking I’d be perfectly content with a B. The exam ended with writing a short composition about the novel we’re reading. I remember feeling pretty good about the essay. The professor gave me a bonus point for style, with a little comment at the end: “Vous êtes poète!” Also, thank goodness for bonus points, for I  might have dipped down into B- or C range without them.

So, that balances the ridiculous crying I did today. If those good things hadn’t happened, I would have chalked today up as an epic loss. Of course there are worse things.

Thanks for the comforting texts, you. I wish I had a gold star to give.

Delayed Reaction

I mean, I had a decent cry last Tuesday when it happened. Friends witnessed it and everything.

Today, life really sucks.

I wish I could describe everything I’m feeling right now, inside.

I mean, I’m a writer. I should be able to do that, right?

Sure, I could probably describe it.

But now? I’m not so sure I can do it without cussing.

I’m so incredibly mad at myself.

I hate this.

Sore Spot

I’m going to be very, very sore tomorrow. It already hurts to walk and stand up from a sitting position. Thing is I need to keep up the exercise. At least get down or close to my fit weight.

Today was a bad day for me. A very, very bad day. I don’t know what I can say about it, other than it was bad. I wish I could be sarcastic about it, but I can’t. It was really that bad. Dangit.

Permission

I’m allowed to have a bad day at work. Circumstances aren’t always going to be ideal, and while I’ve given myself enough emotional room to cope, I can’t be on my toes all the time. Things may crash every once in a while, and they may all crash on the same day, and I might not be ready or strong enough to take it. Fact of life.

I’m allowed to rant about my bad days. Without sense or rationale, I reserve the right to complain. While this may not improve the circumstances at work, it helps me to feel better just to talk about it; it may increase my ability to handle next bad day, because there will be a next . The rambling might not make sense, but that’s what rants are.

I’m allowed to see when I’m not really being listened to. I’m allowed to see I may not have picked a good time to rant (when is a good time?!), and I’m allowed to shrink in front of those who appear to love their jobs all the time or mean to be  helpful by offering sound practical advice because in my mind they’ve been hypnotized somehow by Ayn Rand. If I’m having an emotional moment, it’s hard for me to let people appeal with reason, at least until I’ve calmed down.

I’m allowed to calm down. I realize I’m usually pretty centered and practical, and I usually don’t talk a lot. And maybe I just wasn’t relating very well what kind of day I had, and maybe I do sometimes create situations at work that backfire, and maybe I was just expecting too much. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, really. No one’s but my own. It’s not like I complain about my job all the time. Maybe that’s the problem, though. I heard the words coming out of my own mouth and maybe people were just preoccupied, but at the end of it I felt more condemned than understood. Maybe I shouldn’t have expected that, understanding. For having a bad day. Because everybody has them.

I’m allowed to have them.

I’m letting it go.

If You’re Watching the Gold Medal Softball Game Right Now, Do NOT Read This

I came across some SPOILERS for the gold medal softball game. Of course I read them. And of course I couldn’t believe myself when I started crying, but that news was just heartbreaking. And while I was reading, Patty Griffin’s “Someone Else’s Tomorrow” played, and I was about to burst into sobs right there at my desk at work. I can’t even imagine. That’s some harsh irony, people.

“All the memories fade, send the ghosts on their way
Tell them they’ve had their day, it’s someone else’s tomorrow”

*****

Hey, Floridians. I hope the rain lets up. Fay ain’t playin’, I say. I am May. Sun shine on your day. Somehow, some way. Would anyone like some crudite?