Life is like... Depressing

When I feel like I want to give up trying anything, I get this weird feeling like my cheeks are stuffed with cotton balls. That there are so many cotton balls beneath the skin on my face that I feel like slicing my cheeks like the fur on a teddy bear to let out the fluff.

In psychology today, getting an exam back (an exam that, until today, was ranked in my top five in confidence which I have taken) and seeing scrawled in green ink (the worst grades come in green) "64 1/2 - D." There's that stuffy feeling.

Coming to my dorm room for ease, slipping down the stairwell twice, losing my backpack on the second time. Again I feel sweltering fluff flanking my nose.

Trying to work with the new $99 piece of software to read: "Error, EXS24 not found".

When it happens, things become fuzzy visually. The world isn't real and neither are the people I'm talking to. They're all antagonists in a spider-webbed story with too many chapters. It's shrouded in cobwebs, the world is. So I resign myself to little comforts here and there. I look at the calender and see there are only three months left of this. In doing so, I have to ignore the fact that it also means I have only three months to finish the work I have before me, otherwise I'm just adding stuffing.

So as Pierce turns on his dreadful music next door, as the man outside my window insists on weeding the curb as well as the lawn, as Gray sleeps like a baby, and I stare at the photos on my wall of friends from home, I wonder if this isn't some little game I play with myself. A game of setting up seemingly simple problems, blowing them out of proportion and digging myself deeper into a well. I contemplate that perhaps on a subconscious level I really just hate myself and don't want to succeed.

I ponder these things and stuff my cheeks with cotton balls.