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WORST FINAL EVER. BAD BEYOND THE TELLING OF IT. SO MAD. WILL BE MAD FOREVER.
So, due to my mom cutting off my monthly allowance in a Fit of Flake, as per usual, and thus not having eaten that much since the beginning of the month (oh child modeling, you did indeed teach me life lessons: mostly about hunger management, Under the Pink-style inappropriate inter-female competitiveness and pervasive, creeping dissatisfaction, but lessons!), the timely Finals Week arrival of an exceptionally unpleasant Woman Time, and not sleeping at all last night in order to plod through the indescribably unapproachable Bose and Jalal's Modern South Asia in preparation (there is nothing more bitter than having prepared and having it mean/do nothing), I am dead. Really. I am a zombie at this moment.
Four clerical errors have popped up to impede my graduation. Which is on SATURDAY. So, in post-final fit of productive RAGE, I emailed Latham re: two English things, Mumford re: the history error, and called (cooing and cajoling shamelessly, dredging up reserves of charm I thought as thoroughly exhausted as my zombified corpse) Kirkwood re: the Spanish Transfer Credits Which Disapparated At Random. So Kwood is faxing the unpaid bill (thanks, mom) to the IC office, whereupon I will fax it to my mother's office, whereupon she will pay if she wants this 'walking' bullshit I so thoroughly despise the very idea of, whereupon they will send the transfer credit to the University, that they might receive it and modify my transcript accordingly.
I will polish the Poe thing, and I will half-assedly ready my Russian table before three p.m. tomorrow.
And then I will be free.
I will have obtained the shittiest of shitty grades of semester due to Das Depression leading inexorably to Das Apathy and Das Poor Performance even as roads to Rome, but I honestly cannot find it in me to care.
If I do not walk my mother will visit such Lovecraftian horrors upon me that the time she physically kicked my out of the house and I had to walk those two miles to my dad's sans shoes on a school night will look like a trip to the amusements.
EVEN MY MOOD ICON IS INEFFECTUALLY FAILING TO LIVE UP TO ITS POTENTIAL! EMO ERIN WILL BE EMO UNTIL SHE IS FINISHED! WHERE IS THE POSTAL SERVICE ALBUM OF GREAT SELF INDULGENCE?!
Update: Oh god, have found mirror. Look like consumption victim. V. romantic novel. Hair is curling wildly (Jew-froing in force), face is chalky, cheeks are bright pink, eyes are INSANE. Must go wander moor and/or summer on continent so as to form tableaux, thus get some use out of this.
Edit: Got Kwood fax, faxed to mother's accountant, called to confirm receipt of fax and proper forwarding. Profs have not emailed me back yet. Worrisome!! Have rest of day and all tomorrow to fix it, though, and am reasonably confident this can be pushed through like baby through canal: painful, time-consuming and with much blood, but ultimately source of certain grim satisfaction.
ALSO: Holy crap, nothing has ever looked worse than American!Life on Mars does in that trailer. Ouch.
So, due to my mom cutting off my monthly allowance in a Fit of Flake, as per usual, and thus not having eaten that much since the beginning of the month (oh child modeling, you did indeed teach me life lessons: mostly about hunger management, Under the Pink-style inappropriate inter-female competitiveness and pervasive, creeping dissatisfaction, but lessons!), the timely Finals Week arrival of an exceptionally unpleasant Woman Time, and not sleeping at all last night in order to plod through the indescribably unapproachable Bose and Jalal's Modern South Asia in preparation (there is nothing more bitter than having prepared and having it mean/do nothing), I am dead. Really. I am a zombie at this moment.
Four clerical errors have popped up to impede my graduation. Which is on SATURDAY. So, in post-final fit of productive RAGE, I emailed Latham re: two English things, Mumford re: the history error, and called (cooing and cajoling shamelessly, dredging up reserves of charm I thought as thoroughly exhausted as my zombified corpse) Kirkwood re: the Spanish Transfer Credits Which Disapparated At Random. So Kwood is faxing the unpaid bill (thanks, mom) to the IC office, whereupon I will fax it to my mother's office, whereupon she will pay if she wants this 'walking' bullshit I so thoroughly despise the very idea of, whereupon they will send the transfer credit to the University, that they might receive it and modify my transcript accordingly.
I will polish the Poe thing, and I will half-assedly ready my Russian table before three p.m. tomorrow.
And then I will be free.
I will have obtained the shittiest of shitty grades of semester due to Das Depression leading inexorably to Das Apathy and Das Poor Performance even as roads to Rome, but I honestly cannot find it in me to care.
If I do not walk my mother will visit such Lovecraftian horrors upon me that the time she physically kicked my out of the house and I had to walk those two miles to my dad's sans shoes on a school night will look like a trip to the amusements.
EVEN MY MOOD ICON IS INEFFECTUALLY FAILING TO LIVE UP TO ITS POTENTIAL! EMO ERIN WILL BE EMO UNTIL SHE IS FINISHED! WHERE IS THE POSTAL SERVICE ALBUM OF GREAT SELF INDULGENCE?!
Update: Oh god, have found mirror. Look like consumption victim. V. romantic novel. Hair is curling wildly (Jew-froing in force), face is chalky, cheeks are bright pink, eyes are INSANE. Must go wander moor and/or summer on continent so as to form tableaux, thus get some use out of this.
Edit: Got Kwood fax, faxed to mother's accountant, called to confirm receipt of fax and proper forwarding. Profs have not emailed me back yet. Worrisome!! Have rest of day and all tomorrow to fix it, though, and am reasonably confident this can be pushed through like baby through canal: painful, time-consuming and with much blood, but ultimately source of certain grim satisfaction.
ALSO: Holy crap, nothing has ever looked worse than American!Life on Mars does in that trailer. Ouch.
