It's getting to the part of semester where I melt into a ball of stress, so please ignore any future posts about how horrid uni and work and essays and life is. I'm really lost at the moment and even though I've cancelled work this week I''m still swimming in confusion and unwritten essay plans. I feel like Wylie Coyote, holding up a tiny "Help!" sign as he falls off a cliff.
A dog was run over by a car this morning as I was walking down the Parkway. It was right behind me, so I didn't see it, but I heard the crack, like a car had run over a plastic box or a hubcap had come crashing to the ground. So I turned around and there was this little dead dog rolling down the road. Brown and white terrier with a blue collar.
Yeah, it's not a good day. Now I have to get to work, or fall asleep in my history tutorial again tomorrow which I can't do because I have to get my participation marks up and actually contribute to the discussion which I should be able to do because I'm writing my essay on Vichy France collaboration which is what we're discussing tomorrow but I can't even write this one page on it right now and I think I'll get in there and just faze out and just convince my teacher further that I'm a deadbrain loser and she knows I'm going to write my essay on collaboration and this paper will be so awful that she'll look at it and question whether I should be taking history at all because I suck, I really do, I love history but I suck at these courses, and I'll get horrid marks and no-one will want to hire me as a teacher because I can't even be a proper student and I suck and uni sucks and works sucks and everything sucks and I should just give up, do a film studies degree because that's something I actually know about but will never actually be able to do anything with or get a job in and I'll just become a homeless busker on Pitt Street, feeding pigeons and amusing German tourists with songs about kookaburras.
Woah. If you understood that sentence, congratulations. Welcome to my brain.
ETA: Ahhh, it's more than an hour later and nothing I've written makes sense. My head hurts, I'm going to bed, I'll have to make up something on the train tomorrow. Damn damn damn. I quit.