just feeling...

...

More more moreeeeee

Ok so it's the final exam. So one more dose of "OMFG I'M GOING TO FAIL!!!!" from me and then you guys get a break and this blog can finally start having some substance.


I'm going to fail.

It's my only C-level course and throughout the course I could tell there's a higher level of expectation. On most of my quizzes I got a 76% even though I thought to myself I'm not sure what else I could have written.

-sigh-

Not to mention that I haven't read a lot of the material for this course...(and it's a lot of reading I tell you).........

Well, gotta stay positive. At this point if I study what I can maybe I can pass but with a bad mark. If I get a bad mark I will at least pass the course.......


OMG is this me on my way to a degree?!?! -pulls hair- I will graduate with a 2.4 average I just know it!!!

ha...haha

Ok so I know I've been neglecting my friends recently, but I have been reading your emails and blog posts! Just no time to reply. =( sorry guys...

Just came here quickly to say I'm alive but going through a shit storm!! lol Tonight I have an exam at 7pm and lemme tell you I got a lot to learn in the next 5ish hours! Man...history is not for me.

Status so far is that I did not bad on my AM lit exam (I think) so we'll see how it all goes......tonight.

DUn Da Dunnnnnn.

Seriously gotta change from history major to english specialist....lol

----

Update:

I just took a look at my study guide, and apparently I have to write an essay question that is worth 50% of the exam. Now get this, she wants us to have a thesis and supporting evidence from lecture, the textbook, and the tutorials. The quesiton has been given to us in advance. BUT she does not want us to use any aids. How does that make sense?? How am I supposed to memorize my thesis and all that supporting evidence? History is crazy I swear. In English, if they want supporting stuff like that they tell you that you can bring an outline. Here they expect so much of you. Seriously not taking history anymore I swear. I know I'm going to totally bomb this exam.

At the edge of the field...

There was an incredible feeling of peace as she watched her friends slowly make their way over. The field was wide, open, the hydro wires above weren't big enough to block out the sky. It was summer, the one time of the year where the people could finally stretch, breathe, and smile without black eyes and grey, pinched skin.

--------

It just came out, wishing for summer, I guess. So an update. I've been studying, ish. Not totally slacking like usual, but at the same time I don't know if I'm ready for this. Okay I'm not ready for this. Two of the essay questions are on "Notes of a Native Son" - 2 of them. I've never read notes of a native son and I missed the lecture (apparently). Ok...so, he said he's going to ask us about 2 of the 4 essay questions. Meaning one of them is DEFINITELY going to be on notes of a native son. But then again...that means the other one definitely wont. A blessing? No...never. lol.

Anyway, not too worried at this point just suddenly very exhausted after writting that above snippet. I need food but I don't want to eat because at 5ish Keane will be bringing home food. Maybe I need more tea..but that led me onto a sugar rush.

I feel comfortable, sleepy. I can't wait for summer. It brings a rush of excitement and wonder, happiness, peace. It makes me smile to think of the friends I've been missing.

Ah tired again. -yawns- One more outline. Need to make sure I get down Baldwin's main points.

And so it begins...

I have recently been slacking huge-time in rebellion to the intense stress I was in during school. This was not procrastination...this was blatant, "well, I guess I'm going to screw myself over". But, way I see it, at least for my AM LIT exam, is that if I survived his first yr courses without studying much...perhaps I have a chance now. (Although mind you I may have passed those courses, but that doesn't mean I did *well*). Ok so it looks like first year I got A- in his first term and then a C in his second....hahaha...-eye twitch- OMG look at those grades!! 55% for Critical Writing about Literature! Oh wow! Almost failed...holy smokes. *swts* I hope I'm not taking these memories of slacking and succeeding from the second term...because clearly that went to shit.

Anyway...I think at this point the worst damage I can do is drop myself to a C (I hope). My average has gone up from 2.65 (I believe) to a 2.77 because of last term. Wait not I'm not sure...there's a cumilative and a sessional...omg if it's cumaltive then I'm at a 2.27............

Ok I can't worry about these things. Gotta focus. Just pass the exams........bad marks we can worry later.

Again I start thinking, maybe uni isn't for me?!?!!?

Snow

You used to smile for me.

Now you curse me; you frown. You wish I would leave sooner than I should. How come you don't smile anymore? Now fire burns around you; you seek to destroy me - you push me away.
What happened to when you were younger? You would spend hours with me, just the two of us. You were content. You would laugh and play in the snow; your heart was warm even if your nose was cold. You knew me as well as I knew you, once, you thought you were me.
Do you remember? The thick snow that rose above your front door, the ice tunnels you built under the snow? Can you smell the pine trees, thick and laden with snow? Do you still consider me beautiful?
Your father would say, "You'll hate it, one day."
"No!" you'd cry, everytime. "Never." You'd love me forever, you promised, you'd always smile when you saw me.
Every birthday you insisted that I must come. Without me, it wasn't the same, you claimed. Now you think on that sorrowfully, if I don't come, a look of disapointment crosses your eyes but you don't complain. Somewhere within you, you wonder about me. You love me but you intend to push me away.
Was this always our fate, or did you make it this way?
Well, if it's war you want, then so be it. But you love me, I know you love me even till this day.

And so...

There was no way he'd wear it.

Every night off, when we weren't running special errands for Anthony, she would be knitting away in a little corner of own room. Whenever I asked her about it all she would say was, "Just making myself a scarf." As if she needed a scarf. The cold barely bothered her anymore. What's worse is that sometimes I'd catch her at night working at it..."Winter will be over soon", she'd say, "If I don't finish it then what'll be the point?"

"You'll ruin your eyes," I'd tell her grumpily from my mattress, half-asleep.
"No," she'd assure me through the darkness; I couldn't see her at all. "Trust me, I wont."

It took her about a month to finish and days flew by. The land was still covered in a heavy winter, as if spring could never come; as if it has never existed. It was on one of the colder days that Tory presented it to him. The three of us were alone in his 'office' at the front of the school, across from Carter's room. Everything was in order, as usual. His desk was bare, all paper, pencils, and typical office supplies were probably locked into his drawer; resources, such as paper, were rare. His desk was under the window, which I found curious but it had to be the coldest location to sit under. There were moderate chairs, two in front of the desk, one behind it - the one behind was obviously the most comfortable. On the other side of the room there were three books shelves, all packed. I couldn't make out any titles since the light from the window didn't touch there. The most shocking aspect of the room - the single decoration - was a line of pictures (mostly taking from colouring books) coloured by children, lining the far wall. Each one had something scribbled along the lines of, "I love you Anthony!" I had to resist laughing. His bed was a completely covered mattress on the far wall to the left, parallel to the window. On each side was a bookshelf. It appeared to be perfectly ordered.
We took off our shoes which was custom before entering any room - the hallways allowed for shoes - and placed them on a matt just inside the door. We stepped forward, Tory closing the door behind her, and waited. Anthony was standing, looking out the window - we could see a side view of him. As usual, he appeared as haunting, mysterious - annoying.
I looked over to Tory with a little bit of a smile, forgetting, painfully, that she couldn't see it. I was smiling because of the way she gripped the scarf. I had always known it wasn't for her, but to see it all happen...well, it made me all gooy inside. I wanted to run, I wanted to bury my face in the sand. I was Tory's eyes. I could see Anthony's expression, and I would be the one to get embarrassed. My stomach clenched while waiting.
"Anthony," I jumped, not believing she had went straight to the punch; this girl was brave.
He turned slowly, narrowing his eyes while adjusting to the light to see us.
"What is it?" he asked, noticing, with a sort of curiousity, the scarf in her arms. It was long...extremely long, and wide; she had chosen black from the stores room. It seemed fitting, I couldn't imagine Anthony wearing any other coloured scarf. The thing was oddly spaced out too, with stretches in the stiching here and there. I tried to analyze what Anthony thought of it as she held it out to him, but his eyes only showed confusion.
"This is for you," Tory said earnestly, holding out the scarf awkwardly.
In the case of offered items, you will come across two different kinds of people. There are the kind who will instantly take what you offer them, even if, let's say, it was a piece of garbage. Then there are those who have most likely been tricked this way too many times in the past, or, are not very trusting - as in Anthony's case - who simply stare at the items offered. This is precisely what happened; my stomach tied knots on itself for Tory and my face flushed.
She pushed it forward, a little impatiently, and I could see her blushing.
"Did Angel put you up to this?" he asked slowly, finally deciding to take the object. "I didn't know she could knit."
Tory hesitated, then said, "Yeah...she did."
I snapped my head around to her, surprised; she nudged me a little with her arm, since we were standing close to each other.
"She said she wanted to make you a scarf, since you don't seem to have one."
My eyes timidly went towards Anthony, who touched the scarf gently; something that resembled a grin peeked from the corner of his mouth.
"Well, I'll have to thank her..."
"No, don't!" Tory interrupted, hesitating. "She...was too shy to give it to you. If you say thanks, it'll make her embarrassed."
At this point Anthony seemed to notice something was up. He looked at Tory for a few moments, skeptic and analyzing. It seemed, at least in my eyes, that he understood - or at least guessed - the situation. He wouldn't, or couldn't rather, say anything though because his mind probably couldn't wrap around the idea of a guy making him a scarf. It was not that Anthony was homophobic, or that knitting was a 'girl's job', but rather he was so used to the codes set between males, that the circumstances were heavily unlikely to him. Hesitating, while most likely working these things out in his head, he wrapped the scarf around his neck.
"Well, thank you," he said, not sure who he was thanking. "This will help."
Tory's smile radiated, it was a sun of its own. I felt myself blushing, trying to hide my face with my hand. It was time for us to get down to business or else I'd have to get the hell out of there.
"Yeah..." I said quickly, "nice scarf, we'll let Angel know. Anyway...you called us?"
He nodded, scarf forgotten. As he was telling us the duties for the day I looked over to Tory who seemed to be staring out the window. Lost in a world of her own, her small smile was enough to show all her hard work had been worth it.