My Punishment for Fighting

Maybe this is because I failed to believe that money makes the world go 'round, as a child.

Growing up, I used to be extremely superstitious, basically after I discovered "bad luck" I lost the entire idea of responsibility for mistakes or the shame of failure. My dad liked to take my sister and I to the library, which, though usually considered a great place of knowledge, is actually equal parts nonsense and fact (I personally believe the scales are tipped towards nonsense, considering the immense collection of fictions, children's books, and not to mention biased books; if you need further proof, consider the fact that any book that has even a modicum of fact is most likely in the reference section and therefore not allowed to be checked out). That library is actually when I first came upon a big book of superstition, mainly folksy little rhymes that meant nothing but something I mistook for overlooked fact. Which is where I came upon a little tidbit of superstition that has unfortunately stuck with me for the rest of my life:
One crow unlucky, two crows lucky
Three crows healthy, four crows wealthy
Five crows sickness, Six crows death
This is mainly from memory, since I was probably six when I read it. Unfortunately I recited it in my mind religiously and when my parents drove me to my afterschool math class (they wanted me to be smart) I'd scan the skies for two crows so I'd know I'd pass my daily quiz.

This, as I've said, has stuck with me my entire life. I even shared it with my great grandmother, which caused my dad to think that I might be mentally ill (okay, I am a fan of the hyperbole, but he honestly thought there was something wrong with me). This morning I kept spotting single crows as I went to my bus stop and all the bus ride to the school. Of course I involuntarily remembered the little rhyme, but since I turned fourteen I stopped putting much stock in it.

But unfortunately today really was shitty. Studying did not go as planned, and many excruciating hours later, I ended up on the bus home. And it only took me half an hour to realize I had completely forgot my expensive architecture book at the bus stop, and already had to plan the lie to cover that up. The entire walk home was pretty much the only highlight of the entire day, in which I put my scarf over half of my face, turned up Dirty Projector's "Stillness is the Move" and screamed "UGHHHH" all the way home.

Getting home, and my mom sits me down and informs me that I am $110 over on my phone bill and that I have to pay the difference, which basically constitutes half of all the money I've saved up this year.

To top this all off, through a series of mistakes I've made the past year, my academic records are on hold and I am on academic probation. My financial aid was completely lost and I still have no idea the first step in changing this around. I currently owe over $7000 to the University of Washington, which I know I can find a way to fix, if only the weight of it all wasn't crushing me.

And the only thing that made sense at that point was to just walk outside and cry. Originally planning on walking to Robinswood park, I turned into the cul-de-sack by my house, which used to be my favorite place to bicycle. I walked the whole way, looking at how much things have changed since I was a child. My favorite trees, my favorite neighbors, my favorite blackberry bush, everything was different, dark and unhappy, and blurred by tears.

Here is the awful truth: the majority of my life I have spent believing that fairytales come true. I believed in soulmates, hearts tied together like anchors. I believed in families, in the sanctity of marriage, that money doesn't actually make the world go around. It wasn't until I was 18 that I actually gave up on that classic Disney storyline that something amazing was supposed to happen. I mean, there are the major moments early in life, like your sweet 16, turning 18, turning 21. And all I see is an incomprehensible mass of life moving through time and space. That we're all just faceless beings on an impersonal world. Yes, it's true we're all worm food in the end, but even that can't unite us.

It doesn't matter what I do for the rest of my life. That childish innocence that LIFE is ACTUALLY GOOD is gone forever.

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