Bombed

Couldn’t get out of bed this morning. One of those mornings where you just can’t. Dragged myself to the station half-conscious, heading out to Kaufbeuren while the rest of the group had scattered to their own plans.

Then they handed back the math exam. Are you fucking kidding me. We’d just done a test and I’d actually got a decent mark, and now this—another exam, completely different material, nobody ready. Of course I tanked it. We all did. F’s all around. Bene threw a chair at the wall in this pure moment of rage that was almost beautiful in how unselfconscious it was. I couldn’t help but laugh, the kind of laugh you do when someone’s fury is so clean and obvious it becomes funny.

Last two periods the German teacher dragged us into this thing about class cohesion. Some people didn’t want to go to Prague, there’s apparently something wrong with the group, and he made us write down anonymously what was bothering us. I respect the move. He actually knows how to do this—not performative, just asking the real question.

One more day until vacation. I’m done.