It’s the most wonderful tiiiiime of the year.
Finals are over! That’s one genuinely wonderful thing about this time of year. Finals kicked my ass. BAD. But the good news is I can still keep my financial aid, which is my favorite game to play every semester. I’m 5-0 right now, which is a pretty good score.
What happened academically this year can NEVER happen again.
The other thing about finals being over is I get to go home for Christmas and New Years! Back to my hometown! Back to living with my mother!
You might already know where I’m going with this, and if you do, good for you! Stay strong, brother.
For those more fortunate than I am, let me explain something to you. Sure, winter break might be a “break” from school, but the school year basically serves as MY break from my hometown.
I fucking hate my hometown. I can’t even lie about it, I hate everything about my hometown! I hate the people, I hate the stores and most restaurants, I hate all the memories I have attached to that place, but most of all, I fucking HATE going to the Walmart in my hometown.
I don’t hate Walmart, not at all. I love Walmart. My friends and I go to the Walmart in Fredonia for fun every single week, probably multiple times a week. It actually wasn’t until recently that I even realized I hated the Walmart in my hometown.
Everyone there loses their ability to function like a normal human being, I’ve decided. Or, maybe the locals of my hometown just aren’t normal human beings. I think both of these options have some truth to them.
The rage that consumes me in my hometown Walmart is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It makes my years of teenage angst seem like a walk in the park, because my hometown Walmart genuinely brings out the worst in me.
The people that go there don’t know how to walk, how to drive, or even how to speak. It’s truly unbelievable how much the human brain is able to revert to its barbaric ways in my hometown Walmart.
But enough about Walmart, let’s talk about something that I’ve been experiencing recently.
They (and I have no fucking clue who “they” actually are) say that time heals all wounds. I’m here to tell you that NO THE FUCK IT DOES NOT. Distance heals all wounds. Separation does.
The past few times I’ve been back in my hometown, I can feel my 17 year old self trying to claw her way out of me. Under no circumstances can I let that happen, but she is trying really really hard.
So, does my hometown just make people stupid and evil when you enter it, or is it about growing up and living there for an extended period of time that turns you crazy? I have yet to find an answer for this.
I’m not this full of rage when I’m at college. Granted, I smoke a lot more weed when I’m at college, but does that really have anything to do with my current predicament?
Every single time someone talks to me, I have to stop myself from freaking out. This applies to my family, my coworkers, customers at my job, and even my pets. My dog and cat are rage-baiting me so hard, that I actually turned to my mother, someone who is by no means innocent when it comes to rage-baiting me, and said, “I understand how babies end up with shaken baby syndrome.”
My mother is also an example of someone that makes me understand shaken baby syndrome. Sometimes, I wonder if she ever wanted to shake me when I was a baby. I probably don’t want to find out the answer to that.
So, congrats on another semester to all, good luck dealing with your families, and Happy New Year!
