Sam and Ember are the best. Making sure that my temper stays in check For the most part.
I slowly stopped snapping at many people during Health Education.
And for my long form that needs to be signed, Sam and I will be going to talk to Apale tomorrow. Hopefully she will be at least understanding towards our slightly issue about it. If she doesn't at least try to offer help more than half of my level will not make it to third year. I will even PAY her to go to the hospital ever day. I don't care any more. I WANT MY FORM SIGNED!
The instructors are more friendlier with Sam and I, Sam because she is an instructor's daughter for nursing, and her mom is the level 3 head. And nicer to me because I always seem...as Yna's mom put it, "perfect". I am the ideal student the instructors want. I rarely miss their classes, and always do things the way they want or more than how they want it.
Which is a good thing. The more I stay on their good side, the more freedom I can get. Which works out well. If I am late or I miss a class, they don't really question me. If I am not in the mood, they are more than willing to understand my feelings.
It is a good things since the class tends to rely on me for stuff. Almost every day I am asked if they can borrow my stapler, or my tape, or my scissors. Something. Even the instructors. They don't even come prepared to class. I am Mary Frickin' Poppins when it comes to my bag.
Which is both a good and bad thing. My bag is always heavy, and I know my classmates take advantage of me having everything. Sam does sometimes. When she doesn't want to carry her stuff, or it can't fit in her bag, she will ask to put it in my bag. I am always carrying the heavy stuff, or everything. I don't mind much, But it is starting to cause pain in my shoulders, which is slightly hurting my back, I still can't fully slouch yet. <
Sara seems to be doing well.
I really don't want to be in informatics. It is so boring. I already know how to type and do things. I swear I feel like an adult against everyone in this class. The instructors don't even bother with me and my assignments anymore because when it is due, I will have it done to how they want it.
We are doing a stupid final group project. I don't like group projects. I always end up doing everything. With alphabetical ordering of groupings, I am always placed in the same group, so I know their strengths and weaknesses, and the other groups don't find it fair, since when it comes to speaking in front of people, I am perfectly fine doing it. As well, as the fact I am always there to jump in when they get stuck. So I become a master in whatever topic we report on the day of, and then forget about everything afterwards. So talented I am.
I am too tired. Too much going on in my life that I have put off from just not wanting to do it yesterday, and now I shall suffer. I also didn't get enough rest. I kept waking up. I am going to put off horror movies/shows for a while. My heart kept pounding and I just felt...out of place in my bed. Didn't help I didn't know where my cousin was. She didn't show up until 7am this morning. I am not sending her to Duero anymore. She keeps showing up late for her class. She was suppose to come Monday evening. Last bus out is at 8pm, so she would have been home around 9 or 10, depending on how many people and stops it had to make. But no. She didn't. She waited until first bus in the morning. IT IS A 2 HOUR BUS RIDE! She is nuts. And she keeps complaining on being tired.
I am tired. I am tired of being a good girl. I am tired of people telling me what to do. I am just tired of being me right now.
Everyone seems to think of me as a pet. Even Ian said I just have that aura about me. That I just easily obey. He said that because I refused to turn on my webcam, and he kept telling me to obey. I eventually did just so he would stop, but then being told I am a good girl, a good pet. That stung. I don't want HIM to think that of me. I only wanted one person to ever think that. But that is now in the past I guess.
Anyways I am tired.
No comments:
Post a Comment