It's taken me this long to be able to tell myself, "you had a lot of fuck-ups this semester. So what?" When it came to a point where I couldn't decide why I wasn't happy, I realized I could give it up. Some of the events were my fault. Some of them weren't. I've learned from my mistakes. I'm not going to let them influence me so much anymore. I probably should have made more of an effort in the classes I didn't like; I've always struggled with that, and apparently it didn't improve in college. Maybe I should have limited my alcohol intake that one night. Withdrawing into my room probably wasn't the best way to overcome things. Someday, a guy won't flake out about me, like all the guys from this semester.
A lot of things haven't gone my way lately, but everything for next semester seems awesome so far. I'm living in the building I wanted, in a single, sharing a suite with five close friends. All of my classes are things I wanted to take, as opposed to just one this semester. I'm starting class at noon every day, and don't have class on Fridays. I know plenty of people whose classes and/or housing got completely screwed up for next year; I'm one of the lucky ones. In three more weeks, I'll never have to be woken up by the loud TMI complaints of my pothead suitemate. I'm pretty sure 4/20 will be hell at this school, but hey, at least it'll be a good story!
Last weekend I decided that I could just stop stressing about all that, and focus on not getting too overwhelmed by final projects. I feel so much better now.
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