Dear Self

As I sit in the middle of my bed with no 3oo-thread count sheet as I haven't done laundry yet, though I need to I contemplate the current hazard zone that is my life. I try to put pieces together in my mind to understand I really wasn't working at full capacity. It was all spawned from the comment of one of my professors after an entire semester of poring over one novel and/or short story after another and she declared that apparently I wasn't working hard enough. I have spent countless hours of my life trying to absorb the material and their either regurgitate in a paper or develop a coherent statement to be made in class and somehow though all of my coherent statements in class happen in a way that is something only just short of sheer brilliance I still find myself being told that I am not trying hard enough. Though I have put all I have into the semester and I can do more. Though I have a roommate who steals from me, lies to me, ruins my credit, smokes in my house, and still wants to be friends. Though I have several best friends that ignore me until it is absolutely convinient. And though I have one half of my heart missing as I struggle with the question of what to do after graduation. But somehow my best each semester had always amounted to an A and the time that I work the hardest, sleep the least and push beyond the breaking point my just reward is a 78 or worse a 60. How can I be deemed the star pupil and damn near fail the class while skating slackers skip multiple periods and manage a B+. How can individuals so dense that if I took a hibernation trip inside of their brain I would have written more things in their empty cavern than they had stored and still they can make out better than I. I think I'm gonna be sick. God please just let me earn a little money this break, get rid of this trifling ass roommate, sleep a whole lot enough that I can come back to Hampton, Virginia and try this all over again. Give me strength. It's all on you Lord, because I am fresh out of ideas.