Exhausted

Too fucking tired to type much today, just finished three Caribbean history essays on the development of middle classes and health services and that sort of shit. Jesus Christ, I can't believe how much I hate my subjects now. And I used to love them. What happened?
Oh yeah, I remember...my teachers happened. Jattansingh happened to literature, Jattansingh who says eppytome instead of epitome and shitsophrenia instead of schizophrenia, who defines the phrase "without cultivation, without refinement" as "uncultivated and unrefined"...and Mohess happened to American history, Mohess and her mountings instead of mountains and Tuscany instead of Tuskegee and her way of not believing you did the research when you say you left it home - and you actually did leave it home...
And Dinnoo and Caribbean history, mother of God...five essays due next week, twenty marks each going up for end of term when your ass already has two geo essays, an American history essay and a lit essay due around the same time...Dinnoo and her biases and her undying love for Bill Clinton and talking American politics and current events just as I actually begin to comprehend the nonsense she spouts about sugar duties and metayage...
Ramcharansingh I can live with. Poor thing, she has our class to deal with. It's not her fault half of us are asleep and the other half don't notice she's talking. But I pay attention. I'm a nice child. Well, sometimes.
Friest. My hand feels like it's going to fall off. And I honestly think it will. Yes, I'm fucking exhausted. I'm not coping very well with this lovely part of life called A's...no, not coping well at all...
Right. So I'm going to bathe and then try to get some sleep. Emphasis on the 'try'.
Peace out.

A ship in the harbour is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.