Fed up of feeling like a failure

Dear Diary,

Now I’m pissed off. Not about unreciprocated puppy-love, nor losing my house, but because I failed my archæology essay. I did not deserve failure. I should never have challenged my tutor on the forum, I should have attended the video-conferencing tutorial, and I should not have asked for an extension, and submitted my essay on time.

Had I done these three things and submitted precisely the same essay verbatim I may well have passed. I’m a fcuking idiot. I should have kept my mouth shut and not argued with tutor. As a result I have sketched the Don with girly braids, pinned the sketch to the dartboard, and am throwing axes at him: Norseman style. Surf Teddy would be proud.

I’m furious at having failed. This is the best essay I have written yet, but scored the lowest mark. FFS!

Man the fcuk up Max, and get the fcuk back on the horse. Ride that next paper down. (I am going to pass the paper through an already qualified archæologist to ensure success next time).

Right mister archæology Don: I am gonna write the best fcuking archæology paper ever written, so you cannot fail me. *throws axe* *misses braid* *hits tutor’s nose*

Calm down Maxy. Breath. It’s okay.

Alright. I’ve taken Ronulus Latratus for walkies, played ballies, he’s had wee-wees and done poo-poohs; had din-dins and cuddles. After a cup of green tea I am ready to tackle this paper.

Eyes down. Reading, note-taking, consolidation, written summaries, finally, write and re-write and re-write the essay. Run it by someone who knows the subject matter well. Re-write it again, and send.

Max.