off campus, off mode

This week went fantastically awry. It was the week of my last midterms, and I didn’t really expect that everything would have gone seamlessly and simply great overall, but I also didn’t anticipate that they would have turned out so incredibly out of my favour. I know how much it sucks that all these things just accumulated and became this massive wreck of a week, but I am so honestly relieved that the week is coming to a close. I don’t know if my sinus-pressure-suffering head can actually take much more before it simply explodes.

I’m trying to keep my head at least upright until the semester ends. Right now, with about 2 weeks left of it, followed by a 10-day reading period and then finals for about another 10 days, I don’t know how I ‘ll be able to manage that, because those 5 weeks still honestly feel like a lifetime. And to think that I’ve been through about 13 weeks already of this semester…

Recently I’ve started reading a book, Debout les morts, that has had some pretty interesting topics of conversation. A single line quite nicely sums up one of these topics : « Enfin à chacun sa merde ». Loosely translated, it reads “Alas, to each his own shit.” This sort of idea has helped me to cope these past few days, in helping me to understand that some of us are still dans sa merde (in our own shit). There are those of us who can probably handle it better, or maybe hide it better, but they still have their own problems. Then again, I still feel as if my own have somewhat blown up in such large proportion in my life. Though I know that everybody might have their own merde, that doesn’t help me understand if they might suffer in the same way that I do. To the extent that I do. And to those that might, I applaud you because inadvertently those who are like me must themselves remain so silent.

This isn’t easy to talk about, I must admit. It never has been easy and I don’t think it might ever will be. However, that’s okay with me, because I am aware that even though it might never be so, I also know that no one else will probably ever fully empathise or understand. It’s mostly a form of closure that I hope to achieve by discussing what I can about my own merde. It helps the days go by a little more quickly, in less eloquent words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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