To Fail…To Fail?

I just want to go on record as having admitted that there are moments when I want to give up on this whole study abroad thing.  When I want to pack up my things, book my ticket home, and tell my landlady, “Sorry, keep the deposit, I can’t do this anymore.”

I could go home and take my online class and work again and look for an apartment — a single, because dear lord I can’t live with other peoples’ messes after this or I will hurt someone — and next autumn resume a normal schedule with classes in English in a university that, at least if its system is screwed up and frustrating, is my kind of screwed up and frustrating.

*sigh*.  However.  That would feel too much like failing.  The bad kind of failing.  Not the good kind of failing, like me in griego moderno because it serves me right for being so dumb as to choose to study a difficult foreign language through another foreign language that I didn’t even speak very well to begin with.  The bad kind of failing would be for me to back down now, when I’m so close to finishing the semester.  To not put to use all the things I’ve figured out now that I sort of understand how things work here.

Also, I feel like I owe it to my dear old dad, who is paying my college tuition, to make the most of this experience that I begged for the opportunity to have and in which he has fully supported me.

I do think I can pass two out of three classes.  I also have high hopes for next semester, now that my Spanish has improved significantly and also because I will be taking classes that relate to each other, pretty much all literature classes, and definitely all in Spanish.  Again, Greek = HUGE MISTAKE.

It’s just that right now sucks, and I’m counting down the days until one of my roommates moves out because she’s 22 years old and leaves her dishes in the sink for days until they start to stink.  When she does clean anything, it’s totally half-assed and we end up having to do it again anyway.  She doesn’t take out the trash or the recycling, doesn’t mop, burns the pans, steals my tea, takes over the living room to study every day, and spends an inordinate amount of time yelling at her mother on the phone.  I think I’m developing an eye twitch from barely-concealed anger.

Also, the whole lifestyle here of going out drinking and doing nothing else of substance is really starting to wear on me.  I want to do things with my life other than meet up for coffee or a beer, but apparently I am alone in that desire, at least in this country.  Call me what you want, a stickler or party-pooper or “too old” or “too mature” or “too serious,” but I’m over it.

In my frustration, I have done what I always do:  make lists.  Here are some of the things I want to improve in the next six months I have here:

– Develop a color-coded system of note-taking

– Sit in the front of the class, always

– Take yoga or find a good place to run, something to let off some steam

– Go to sleep earlier than midnight

– Find Spanish friends I can talk to about more than going out partying

– Travel, alone (No. More. Groups.)

– Try not to kill anyone (’cause I think they would take my passport away, among other things)

Wish me luck.


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