failings
I lay on the couch I shared with my roommate and stared into the textures on the ceiling. I wanted to move, but my body seemed to grasp the futility of any further action. It ignored my attempts to force it into productivity. Instead, I thought about this past year and all of my countless failings. I'd been so eager to begin my life at the University. I had thought I'd study hard, get a job, and make a meager living while earning my degree. Unlike my family, I would refuse to accept anonymity. I'd make something of myself, and more than that, I'd make money. But there are impossibilities in place to prevent plebeians like myself from wriggling their way upstream. I'd spent a year volleying being class work and actual work, carrying the stress of failing at either. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes, and as that pressure mounted I became cruel, frenzied, and robotic. I somehow managed - for an entire year - and made something called progress at the expense...