tooartytoparty

Month: March, 2016

It’s not me it’s you?

The truth is that at the moment I am not quite enjoying university. Am I even allowed to say that considering that I pay £9000 a year?

This year I have read 44+ plays and 14 novels (although I have not had time to finish them all). There is always the constant pressure of performing well at the seminars. I have to devote so much time to my essays that I don’t have time to read the novels/plays and vice versa.

I have a seminar tutor that makes me feel like the most stupid person ever and, truth be told, she is probably the main reason for why I don’t enjoy uni at the moment. She speaks to us like we are misbehaving 13-year-olds and not 20-something almost adult university students. She tells us off for not having read something she never even told us to read and dismisses our thoughts if she doesn’t agree with what we say. I spend 2h each week with her in one of the big rehearsing studios. 5 students on chairs in a circle in the middle of the room. It is not an equal discussion, a safe-place to test your ideas. It’s a bloody interrogation. I hate Tuesdays because of her and no matter how well I prepare for her seminars it feels like she thinks I can always do just a little more. She thinks that the first years are dull because they think according to the mark scheme and not for themselves. I don’t do that but it feels like she is projecting her views of how dull we are as a group onto me and it makes me underperform because she never even lets me show what I go for. The only way I could ever say anything in these seminars is through interrupting either her or someone else in the group. (Mainly E***, the tutors favourite). I don’t do interruptions because I don’t think that what I have to say is more important than what anyone else has to say. She gives me my essay back without a single bit of positive feedback. How is that suppose to motivate me to write better essays when she makes me feel like I don’t have a single good, original idea?

I go to her office crying and she doesn’t even acknowledge it. Doesn’t say that if you just change this or this in your essay it would be a good essay. Doesn’t give me any credit. Just thinking about this again makes me tear up and I hate it. I hate it that she makes me feel this way.

Advertisements

❤️‍

I like you so much that I’m in that state of mind where I’d happily tattoo your name anywhere on my body just to show you, and the world, how much I care.

If I wrote a book I’d dedicate it to you.

If I was to hold a thank you speech for anyone it would be for you.

If I’d win £1000000 I’d give half of it to you so that both of us could pay off our student loans.

If I was to bring a single person with me to a deserted island it would be you.

There’s only one person I want to kiss and one person I want to spend the night with and one person I want to hold hands with when I am out for a walk. Only one person I want to eat pizza in bed with on a Saturday night.

There’s only one person and it is you.

😢

It feels like most of my posts are about crying these days but then again there are rarely weeks that pass without me crying so fair enough that the posts are about tears, ok?

I’ve always cried a lot. I think that it is just my natural response to most things. Happytears, angrytears, annoyedtears, tiredtears and of course sadtears. This academic year, something new: stressed tears. And I am so stressed.

I am stressed about reading that thing for my next seminar with the tutor that always makes me feel really stupid. I get stressed about writing that essay because I still want to get good grades you know. I get stressed because it feels like they’re “shooting literature at me and I just can’t catch it all” (told my bf this and he told me that I am very dramatic. I don’t understand what he means)(but after all I am studying English and Theatre).

I get stressed about the future and sometimes even about the past – or about the relationship between past and future perhaps? I don’t even know.

I was told off by one of my house mates yesterday morning for being too happy, too much of a morning person so I told her “Sorry, I’ll just go back to being miserable instead”.

Maybe I should make a mark in my calender for all the times I’ve cried lately?

early morning symbolism

IMG_0230_editedI put toothpaste on my new toothbrush and realise that the colour combination symbolises my life at the moment. The blue and yellow of the toothbrush is Sweden – my foundation and forever my home country – and the toothpaste is the UK – red, white and blue, put on top but quite easily brushed off?

breakdown

I got that essay back last Wednesday. At 10.16 I opened my emails and saw the mark. 48%. That mark that was so much lower than anything I ever expected and that mark that made me close the laptop lid and tear up

“What’s wrong?”
“I got the essay result”
“Oh nay”
“I got 48%”

and then I can’t stop crying for the next hour. I sob into his fleece jumper and wipe my snot on his shoulder and he says come here and hugs me tight. I cry like a baby (I am already a cry baby but this is worse), harder than I have cried for a long, long time. Probably harder than I’ve ever cried in front of someone. I cry to the point where my eyes are so swollen and my breathing uneven and gasping. I cry so hard I have a headache for the rest of the day.

He tells me positive things:

  • It would be weird if you went through uni without ever getting a bad result.
  • If that seminar tutor doesn’t like you it doesn’t matter. She’s just one person in this world.
  • You are not week that cry. It just shows that you care and that is a good thing.
  • You will learn from your mistakes.
  • In some time you’ll look back at this and ask yourself what was so important about this essay anyway.
  • It’s only 25% of the module and your next essay will be better.

and won’t stop hugging me. But when he whispers nice things in my ear it makes me cry even more because he is nice and I am so so so happy I’ve got him and I love him so much but I am still very upset about this essay. Emotional chaos.

The feedback comments are very harsh and from the tutor that has made me feel like the most stupid person at the university for 16 seminars (=32h) this year. The one that will just say “No!” if she doesn’t agree with what you’re saying and tell you off for not reading something she hasn’t even told us to read in the first place. I though if this essay turns out alright I can at least prove to her that I am not stupid but that obviously failed. She hasn’t got a single good thing to say about it. She says it only scratches the surface, that my grammar is bad, that the typos show “inattentive technical writing”. I agree to some extent. I am just surprised because I don’t think that my essay writing style can possibly have changed so much from the last essay I wrote (not for her) which got a much higher mark.

He makes me calm down and then I put my make-up on in a hurried attempt to cover those swollen eyes at least a bit before he gets on his red bike and cycles home while I catch the bus to uni.

I should have brought my sunglasses.

The girl I have lunch with in Bar Fusion asks me if I have a cold.

I go to her office after lunch to discuss the essay and though tears are trickling down my nose she doesn’t acknowledge it. She pretends I am fine and tears as good as every sentence of my essay to pieces in front of me. I leave her office still with swollen eyes and run into Aime. She’s also going to discuss her essay with the tutor. I walk round the Humanities block once and then decide to wait for her.

She also comes out of the essay crying so we take the bus back to town and go for a coffee in Costa to cheer ourselves up and to have a nice chat. At the end of it we’re both exhausted.

That night it takes me ages to fall asleep because somewhere in my mind it is all still present. The only thing that makes me calm is imagining that I slap the tutor’s face hard but at that point I do worry a bit about my own sanity. I cry a little bit more to make sure to let it all out and because I can’t sleep because of the wind and the bottle that rattles around on the drive.

The morning after when I wake up again I’m not upset any longer. I am angry, fuming, furious.