No longer true.
I'M GOING BACK TO COLLEGE SO SUCK IT!
Which is a spectacular thing. (Going back to college, not sucking it.) And yet incredibly awkward (still talking about college here), since I definitely told a bunch of people I wasn't coming back to Chattanooga. And now, in January, I'm going to be walking around campus, going to class (that's right. GOING TO CLASS), and I'll see one of the people I gave my whole prepared-explanation to of why I'm not coming back. And then they'll be like, "Natasha? I thought you said you weren't coming back!" and then I'll have to have yet another prepared reason as to why I completely LIED a month ago.
(Of course I didn't lie. I really wasn't going to go back. It was final. It was decided. There was screaming. There was yelling. "THIS IS WAR, NATASHA" was stated somewhere at sometime amidst all of this chaos, which is a pretty serious statement, if I do say so myself. And on top of all that, every single possession I lived with for an entire 5 months is piled up in my car, which is going to be a BITCH to lug back up to my third-story dorm that lacks an elevator and it really would have been much easier if I had known I was going back in the first place. GOD DAMMIT.)
And it won't stop there with running into random people who thought they'd never see me again. I'll see another, and another, and another, and really I didn't tell ANYONE I wasn't coming back. Not one. Except the maintenance men. And it's probably because of them I didn't tell anyone I was leaving. Because I'm really not into people giving me pity looks and wasting their advice about how to succeed on someone who doesn't give a fuck.
(No, it's not because of the maintenance men. I wasn't going to tell anyone, anyway. Goodbyes are the most awkward things on the planet and I will do anything to avoid them. Because they are sad. But I'm not going to cry about it. And what if someone else is crying about it? Then I look like a big giant asshole who doesn't give a fuck because I didn't cry first and I didn't cry once the other person started crying and blah blah blah didn't we get all our crying out when we were babies? Was that really not enough? LOOK. I just don't like crying in public. Because then I'll need a tissue. And where the hell can you find free tissues in public?)
But then I blogged about it. And now people know. And now I am forced to blog about me going back to college, which is GREAT! But not the most interesting thing to write about, since I'm not even back yet. Really I'm just writing this because a friend of mine saw someone I knew the other day and told me she was talking about me to a group of people who I don't even know.
"Natasha Ferrier FLUNKED OUT OF COLLEGE."
Okay. FIRST of all. I didn't "flunk" out. You wanna know my grades? Really? Is that what this has come down to? Well too fucking bad because I really don't give a shit because I'm pretty sure "flunking" out of college means at least ONE 'F' and how many F's did I have? ZERO. Suck on that, bitches. (Let's just say there were no vowels amongst my grades and half of my grades put together could also be interpreted as a bra size for a very large woman.)
SECOND of all. Who the FUCK cares about whether or not I'm getting an education? I've spent the last 13 years of my life getting an education and if I decide to take a little fucking break then good for me. I'm really sorry the most interesting thing you and your friends have to talk about is Natasha Ferrier's college GRADES. I mean good god people. I know I'm interesting and all but COME ON. Go see a movie or something.
THIRD of all. I'm going back after all so who's the liar now, bitch?
You may be wondering how I went from definitely NOT being able to go back to, hey! I'm goin' back! Yay! Well. To be honest I don't really know. Okay I do know but it's not that interesting. Basically my parents weren't going to send me back because they thought I was a lazy bum and all I was going to do was dick around next semester, lose the Hope scholarship, waste them a lot of precious money, and come back as some kind of drug addict. But I have convinced them that heroin is not my cup of tea and that I'm more than ready to spank those books right on their ass and ask them who's their daddy.
(I'M their daddy.)
I'm completely ecstatic about getting to finish the year. Sure, the closest friends I made there aren't going back; sure I'll have yet another PAIR of new roommates, who will most likely SUCK ASS; sure I left the place a mess when I left and most likely have a lovely chit-chat with my RD awaiting me; sure I'm going back to a bathroom that has a tendency to lock people inside of it (which by the way is the worst possible thing that could happen when the 6 people you're with are all intoxicated, and they're trying to break into a bathroom to get you out, and they're laughing, and they're falling over, and you're sitting in the tub curled up in a ball trying to wait patiently for everyone to focus on the fucking doorknob and quit asking each other where the rest of the alcohol is); BUT. Despite all of that, I'm going back. And it's looking promising. It's looking very promising. No friends means no distractions which means no dicking around which means lots of studying which means good grades which means great grades which means fantastic grades which means happy parents which means no grounding Natasha over the summer. And THAT matters most of all.
It really is quite ridiculous how dramatic this whole situation was initially, and how now poof! It's all evaporated and I'm going back to college as if there was never a time in my life where I was sleeping on benches. Goodbye, bench days! Adios, soup kitchen! Hello, UTC! Hola, college life! And of course, bonjour, bitches. I'm back.
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