Theme Post 1, Week 14

                She glanced at the clock again, five more hours left until it was 11:59. Not enough time. Document3 was still untitled after four rambling paragraphs about Reactive Attachment Disorder, a subject that after skimming countless resources she knew nothing about. Certainly not enough to write a meaningful thesis backed up by facts and studies for the ten-page research paper. A paper she had all semester to work on.

                Staring off into space, she absentmindedly picked at her nail. It was chipped. Nothing came to mind as she thought about a direction for her paper. Normally, she would have written an outline for the whole thing. She would have researched it thoroughly and known exactly where to find the information she needed. She would have had draft after draft until she knew it was an A.

                She wasn’t good under pressure. Eight PM. Cheesestixs were in the oven and all she could think about was the fact this paper was 50% of her grade. It had to be good but all it was a disorganized mess, a re-iteration of other people’s words, a jumble of numbers and meaningless statistics. She was writing long, wordy sentences to take up space, fake confidence. It was obvious she was trying to sound smart. Horrible.

                At eleven she met the page requirements, wrapped it up in a weak conclusion and went to work on her reference page. This was all her fault, nobody to blame but herself. She spent the weekend before in Boston with a friend from high school. Spent too much money on dinners in fancy restaurants and a black, lace dress she would never have a place to wear. It had been a busy week at work; she was scheduled twenty-five hours, all night shifts. There was no time in between classes to get anything done. After work she crawled into bed and watched T.V. before drifting off to sleep. Every night she set her alarm for nine but without fail, turned it off and gave into the comfort of her bed. Her plans to write in the morning never panned out and before she knew it, she was rushing to class with barely enough time to shower.

                As she finished formatting her last reference, it crossed her mind that maybe school wasn’t really for her. It was impossible to stay on top of things; in order to do well in one area, another usually suffered. The paper was the worst thing she’d ever handed in. After she sent it, she found typos on every page and repetitive statements. It was hard to follow, disorganized. Stupid mistakes she never would have made if she’d been a better student, the kind of student that succeeded. Maybe she wasn’t that committed. Or maybe she wasn’t the person she thought she was. Not as smart. She knew people stumble, nobody’s perfect, but she still wanted to be. If this had happened to a friend, she would have known with certainty they weren’t a failure. She would have said “at least you got it in. A C isn’t that bad.” She would have meant it but for some reason, she couldn’t give herself the same slack.