My hands smell like stale sweat, dirt, and something that can only be described as the odor of metal. Today began well and, unfortunately, ended poorly. I got frustrated, and lost my composure. It's been happeneing more frequently as of late. Is it stress? I�ve always thought of myself as incapable of stress. Maybe it�s different now that I actually care how I do in school, and in the other areas of my life.

I can�t blame it wholly on my circumstances even though I�d like to. I�ve been irresponsible and my poor planning has left me with few options at the end of the day. If I had planned better before things went to crap then I would have still had time to get things done, and I probably could have avoided a lot of aggravation.

What happened?

The short of it is that I procrastinated all weekend on work for school, and it�s 1:29am on the day of my classes and I have almost nothing to show for it. Tonight I went over to some friends� house to study and do the work that I had put off all weekend, and all that was waiting for me there was incessant talking, loud obnoxious laughter, and coarse jokes that were entirely inappropriate (even for a group consisting of all guys which happened to not be the case on this particular occasion). One of my good girl friends was over there studying too, and all she heard most of the whole night was her brothers in Christ talking like a bunch of tasteless frat boys. I got five minutes of studying done, and ended up going home after about two hours of interruptions.

Later that night, Jason and I went to go make some more filter frames, and on the way there I remembered that we needed to get screws. I drove to Wal-Mart while Jason stayed to work, and I came back with the wrong size screws. I went back and got the right size, but then the kind of screw was wrong. I tried a few times to get the screw in, and I could feel all of my frustration boiling up about to erupt. I threw the expensive drill that I was using on the ground, and threw the filter frame that I was working on against the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. Sitting on the floor, I put my head in my hands as my shoulders slumped. Jason came over and started to massage my shoulders as if he�d relax my anger by relaxing my muscles.

It helped.

We didn�t try to finish. We cleaned up everything, and left the warehouse behind. I was faced with the choice of whether or not to do the extra credit work that I need for Sociology and had put off, but I�m tired of trying to patch things up. It seems that everything that I�ve put my hands on tonight has fallen apart. I�m afraid to do anything else other than to write about it, and then to go to sleep. I just want to forget and wake up tomorrow and remember nothing. Whatever needs to change can change tomorrow, not tonight.

I try not to make my blog a confessional, and make the reader my priest, but every time I sit down, I�m ready to tell how others have wronged me, or how I�ve succeeded in shooting myself in the foot (which is usually the case).

I won�t apologize though.

I�ve figured out that apologies for your writing accomplish nothing. It�s like apologizing profusely for something that wasn�t that big of deal in the first place. It just causes the person hearing the apology to feel uncomfortable, wanting to brush the topic aside, to move on with the conversation.