what the fuck even in Candy Caned (December 2019)

So I had to meet with a bunch of high muckety-mucks today. Because when shit went bad like two weeks ago (before Thanksgiving?) I used the school food pantry, which is supposed to be consequence free, but in reality, ends you up in the dean of students’ office. Which is great, I guess, if you happen to be 19 and stuff. Because the school has programs for that. You can get a solution and waltz away to do fun shit or whatever. However, I ended up going in, being braced with a fucking armada of questions, admitting my husband sucks and I’m here so I can LEAVE and not need to live on welfare forever, please and thank you, and so she made appointments with my one dean (social work) but not the other (English) because, and I quote, she’s hoping I’ll make English my minor.

But at the same time, she’s worried about letting me do a social work internship. Well, I haven’t tried that before. There’s a chance I’m going to fuck up, crack up, or elope with Brad Pitt. Probably not a great chance of that last one. Maybe the chance is higher than usual I crack up. Maybe I’m just a fuckup and that’s what she wanted to tell me. But well, I got this far. Now what?

Now what I guess is that my Kleenex is a sodden mess and I’m trying to organize my thoughts.

So, not kicked out of the program (I asked, point-blank), but I definitely feel they don’t want me to go on with it. It’s “draining” and I am “not professional in my person” and what the hell. I wonder if it’s my teeth. She brought up the fact that I’m nervous about I-5 and so what? Am I not permitted to be anxious about the fucking freeway? People die on it daily. Maybe we should all be afraid of it. And then I was dumb and I told the truth about our living conditions, which is always fun for other people: seven people, one house, and I sleep in the dining room, yeah, I know. But a 13 year old kid needs a door, and everyone else here has seen me naked because they basically came out of there. Except Spouse, who I suspect was hatched. Dude, I gave you a vagina to sort out for a few years, and you were bad at it. Also, major premature ejaculator. I think the term they use is “minute man” and uh, a minute was a good go. Except not. How can you be in there a minute or less and leave it all raw and bloody anyway???

Oh, I wandered off topic. This is the problem with not having friends. I haven’t got anyone to hold the off topic anymore.

This Kleenex is shreds.

Where was I, even?

I guess I was at the point where none of this matters and I already failed. Great to be back.