Shot In The Face
And so I did, metaphorically speaking, watch the dirty chrome of the firearm rise up and try to shoot me. I was bleeding, my heart open and sore, the pain making concentration difficult. I cursed, as I have avoided capture or wound by far better. Why this rusty 38, battered and nearly useless, with a heavy and uneven pull on the trigger, and a warped barrel? It weighted too much for its size, why could I not leap, dodge, evade, grab it, take it for my own, or toss it aside? Instead, I watched, as the bullet chambered and let fly a flaming crimson lead butterfly that drove itself into my skull. Shot in the face.
That's what the pain in my head is like now. I may have just failed, for the second time, the easiest course I've ever taken at UBC. I might even get kicked out of UBC for this. Not my department, but the fucking school.
I may not, but I frankly don't know. The assignments, homework, reading... everything was fucking torture. Not to mention I spent most of my time being really upset about romance related trauma. But even in the presence of that, it's not like I was doing anything else. Gimme a course that's hard, that really challenges me, and I'll give you the best grades I've ever got. But a really monotonous, remedial, repetitive course and I
just
can't
hack
it.
It is intensely depressing that this course, fucking intro to empirical economics, might mean the end of my academic career. I've come so far, to be stopped... here?
We'll see, it's too early to tell and I can't ever gauge this one. A pass, just a pass, I don't even care how low. Just a pass.