This Week Blows

Yea. That's basically all I really wanted to say. Monday I had an exam. And sure, whatever, I did fine, some may say better, than usual. But I wanted, nay, needed a miracle--and I didn't get one.

Monday night I got to watch Star Wars with some friends, which was entertaining. Blu-ray is nice. But it wasn't amazing. Later, went for drinks at Firkin, which is a nice place, and the drinks are always delicious. But not amazing.

Tuesday I went to Traffic Court, and like a scared idiot decided to plead "Not Guilty." So now I have to go back to court on March 6th. And I will probably need a lawyer. I don't know anything about how this is supposed to work. Justice is intentionally confusing, I am sure.

I wanted to stand there, in front of the judge, my back turned on at least fifty other people with various offenses. I wanted to express disappointment in myself for the wrong I committed which in my mind wasn't very wrong at all. Because I like Illinois, I will pay your fines.

But then the judge, with short blonde hair, asked me why I was there, didn't wait for me to answer her, looked at the sheet in front of her, and said, "Speeding? In a school zone? Have you talked to the Lake Bluff prosecutor?" Her tone implied that I was in more trouble than I had thought. And as I stood there, I wanted to rage. I couldn't draw in enough breathe to yell. I asked if this offense would show up on a criminal background check. She went on a short rave about how she had never done a criminal background check and how was she to know--

I had spent forty-five minutes in this room, watching people stand in front of her. I had watched a handful of young men in khakis with their proud, defensive parents--as if parents never leave the sides of their male spawn--get mandated to go to traffic school, with a nice little smile. I had watched two older men, who spoke little enough English to require a translator, be told that they had committed a class A felony by driving on a suspended license, which could justify them having to pay $7500 in fines or spending 365 days in jail. One of them seemed okay with that. The other seemed genuinely horrified that something of this magnitude could happen. A shifty looking kid with longer hair had driven 75 miles per hour in a 35 miles per hour zone. His rich parents had to pay $300.


I had driven 37 miles per hour in a 35 miles per hour zone that was really a 20 miles per hour zone because it was a school day and there was a cop trawling the street. But there were no children still at the school--they had all gone home. The cop had written up my ticket, and mentioned that the citation had occurred at 3 pm, even though it had happened at 3:08 pm.


Fear. My voice picked up. I was probably much louder than I needed to be. I stuttered a bit. "I don't... do not want to plead guilty to this."

Really, I should have said something like this: "This trumped up charge is a defamation of my character, and the mere claim that I would speed past children is both intolerable to my constitution and personal libel. Causing any harm to children, directly or indirectly, is entirely antithetical to my character. I refuse to pay fines or jail time or have my name tarnished because this cop wanted to write a ticket--a ticket she improperly filled out. I refuse to pay fines to a state that has horrible laws that make it easier to--through civic means--disadvantage the already underprivileged. Most importantly, I refuse to help fund the justice system in my local area, an area that saw a man beaten to death by police within the last year, an incident that his mother reported on as such:


"They would not have beaten a dog as badly as the way they beat my son."


Worst of all, it was February, National Black History Month. And as this is the biggest wrong I have ever been accused of, perhaps I began to irrationally fear that I was witnessing the beginnings of my disenfranchisement. I am more American than most white Americans, and you can take my rights away when you tell me that my ancestors didn't mean anything to this country. The Midwest would be crap without the influx of German farmers.

So I walked out of the court with another court date ready to go. Because sure, I love spending time dealing with a justice system that even my lawyer-to-be older sister claims "is magical."

Meanwhile, I've had to deal with people actually making fun of me. Almost constantly actually. About everything. Speeding in a school zone. Doing poorly in anatomy. Exaggerating the extent that I've hit people. I'm beginning to have panic attacks, reminiscent of when I--elementary school Elora--used to get bullied and no one would stand up for me because I had no friends at the time, and I'd end up just running away--from school, from home. I don't really have any good places to run away to now. But I guess I'll stay home from lecture tomorrow. Maybe I'll cry myself to sleep. In general, I have a rule that goes a little something like this: Once something has made you cry once, you have to get over it, because it made you cry. You can't give things that much power over you. The only problem is, I really don't know what's upsetting me the most. And I don't think I want to tell myself. Self-hypnosis aside, I don't know what to do and am truly horrified by the prospect of having to endure this kind of feeling for much longer. I feel crappy enough that I would actually enjoy being hugged right about now. Which is preposterous, because I hate hugging people almost as much as I dislike the overuse of cliches in popular literature.

All in all, it looks like my sadness stems from my helplessness. I seemingly can't control how well I do on exams. I can't control people's feelings about me or what they're willing to say to my face. I can't control or even understand our state's crazy moving violation laws. And now I can't even control my feelings. I'm a mess.

It is barely Thursday.

And this week blows.