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Last Straw

by Aimee Friedland

Today's last straw was the essay handed back to me by my politology teacher, on which I got a big fat C- followed by a "We need to talk". It reminded me of a few weeks ago, when my art history teacher returned one of my written works to me and dubbed it as an "honest attempt" in front of the whole class. There's something very ironic in that phrase, because with each passing day my work becomes less and less honest, more full of shit, fluff and generalizations - anything to meet the length requirements and due dates. I don't fucking care. Just fail me already, I can't take this.

I'm so humiliated. I realize now what an immature and irresponsible decision it was for me to come and study here, and now it may be too late to ever redeem myself academically. They say that failure is the best way to learn, but what if it requires me moving back to Tucson and living in my brother's room, taking classes at the community college? I'd just about die.

In fact, I am just so sick of academics at this point. I don't see myself being able to thrive anywhere, regardless of language. I am lazy, uninterested, and to top it off, not particularly clever.

My dream is to someday become a writer, but to be honest, I hate people who are bent on becoming writers. In general, after this humbling ordeal I have learned not to expect so much from myself, because I just end up being let down.