Entry #16, March 2-4
A Confession, An Accusation
Saturday, Mar 2 (4:09 P.M.)
I don’t even know where to begin. It’s the final day of the 8th week, four more weeks to go. I have done a lot of regrettable things.
I didn’t go to my Physics lecture today. In fact, I haven’t attended that class for the last six straight meetings. Today was our second long exam. And now it’s official, I have given up on that course. I’ll tell you why if there’s time, I need to go to the church now.
See you later. If I still have the energy to write.
Sunday, Mar 3 (11:25 P.M.)
Why does it feel like a confession? Is this what writing a diary should feel like? The feeling that I’m being judged even if there’s no one here but me. I’m probably the one passing the sentence.
It’s right or wrong. Heaven or hell. That’s what they teach at church.
I’m afraid, embarrassed, and guilty.
Afraid of being misunderstood. Embarrassed about being honest. Guilty for being weak.
Monday, Mar 4 (5:03 A.M.)
I confess. You judge.
If I get caught smoking marijuana, I’m done.
It will be the thing that they’ll point to when explaining why I failed my courses this term. The evidence of why I keep failing and will never amount to anything.
To them, the reason why I don’t understand engineering is because I hang out with people not in my program. The hipsters who majored in the arts, unserious about the future, destined to end up stuck in front of a computer screen.
First, they had me questioning the path that was laid out for me and now they’ve introduced illegal drugs. Bad influences. These wannabe artists. Rebels and unbelievers.
If I get caught smoking marijuana, I already know what my father would say.
(10:22 A.M.)
From the summer of last year until Christmas break, it was all we had anticipated. To satisfy our curiosity. To know what it felt like. We’ve seen it in movies from the 1960s and 1970s. We wore Rubber Soul and Revolver T-shirts. This is only to spark our creativity. None of us wanted to be a stoner for life.
We finally acquired the stuff by December. After two sessions, I left thinking I might be pot resistant. What a waste of money! Then one of my reefer-curious friends introduced me to their arts professor. She didn’t smoke grass, but she knew a guy who knew a guy and was willing to help us out. I spent the last of my lunch money to do one last experiment.
I took the final test during the two and a half weeks of vacation. I did all my research. The differences between Sativa and Indica. The best films to watch, music to listen to, snacks to munch on while on it. I watched documentaries, studied its history. In my bedroom I learned how to make a sploof to cover the smell.
And I passed. I was positive. I finally got the good stuff.
Then I promised myself I’d quit before school started this year. And I did...
Until the lowest point of the worst semester of my college life.
