Monday, June 18, 2012
You know what I hate almost more than anything? Being misunderstood. I can't stand misunderstandings in general, but especially when I feel like they make me look bad. Then I really hate them. Tonight I felt misunderstood by my professor. He doesn't know anything about me. I look 19. He doesn't know why I show up just after 6:00 almost every class. He doesn't know that I am taking care of two kids and getting dinner on the table right up till the second my husband gets home and I rush out the door. He doesn't know why I spend half the class on my phone. He doesn't know that I spent half the night up with a baby. That even when I'm interested in what he's teaching, it takes everything in me to stay awake for the rest of the lecture. He doesn't know that I didn't hear the instructions about which questions to skip because I'm thinking about where on earth we're going to be living in the next couple of months. It doesn't really matter. He probably wouldn't care anyway. But I feel like he would be more understanding if I looked a little older. If he knew I wasn't there because my parents made me choose between school or a job. That I really was paying attention and learning, but needed help to stay awake because I have two young kids and I'm drained. So drained. That I work really hard, even when I look like I'm bored out of my mind (sorry, that's what tired looks like on me). That I'm not there because I have to be. That I really am trying. I hate looking like a teenager. I feel bad for teenagers. Nobody gives them a break.