There is goes again… the alarm. It must be 5:00am. I roll over to confirm the time and slam my hand down on my alarm clock. It’s time to go back to that hell hole. School has never seemed to amuse me. I hate school. It’s stupid.

Although I can think of a thousand things better to do, I end up getting ready and heading to school anyway. As I drive to school, things keep running through my head, “I’d rather go to work”, “I’d rather hang with Sophie {best friend ever}”, “I’d rather go back to sleep”, etc… I reluctantly arrive to school and class by class my energy slowly drains because I have been falling behind due to several absences for two funerals and doctor appointments for an injured ankle. By the time I get to second hour, I am already thinking about going home to sleep. Instead, I am given an assignment to complete a memoir. Really?!?! To me, this seems pointless. The level of aggravation grows higher.

***
White, fast, big engine, lowered body, nearly slicks, and best of all, it’s all mine! I purchased my first vehicle on my own. I had been forewarned that trucks can be costly and tend to cause you problems if not taken care of properly. I guess I had to learn the hard way. By the time the first snowfall came, I had a terrible ride home. The hazard lights turned on and then NEVER turned off! In an attempt to get them fixed, my nearly slicks did not prove snow-worthy and ended up off the road and crashed into a mailbox. It’s not what I had expected when I spent so much of my hard-earned money on this vehicle. I was frustrated, scared and wanted to burn out to get the hell out of there. How much damage was done and what is this going to cost me?

Aggravated and pissed only starts to explain my frustration. This was my first big responsibility. This was something I had chosen, not something someone told me I had to do. I had expectations of what my first truck would be like and this was not living up to them. The fist-full of dollars I had to throw away just to get my truck back to working order seemed pointless. This sucks.

***
What in the hell am I going to write about for a memoir? Topic after topic, I have adamant reasons why I cannot write about them. Some are too painful, some are too complicated and some are just stupid. Each time I revisit the assignment, I draw a blank. I’m already behind and every moment I delay this assignment, I just dig myself into a deeper hole. But still, I find myself putting it aside and finding something better to do. Somehow there’s an underlying belief that if I procrastinate long enough either the assignment will go away or it will write itself. Neither are happening.

***
Every time I try to work on the memoir, I get more pissed. Not only can I not decide on a topic, but I get discouraged because the instructions are not very clear to me. I have a hard time focusing on class assignments because the funerals and doctor appointments for my injury have done two things: 1) kept me out of school and put me behind in all of my classes; and 2) have had me thinking about other things like family and sports.

***
My initial thought was that memoirs were pointless and stressful. Although, I’ve come to realize that it wasn’t the specific assignment that was so awful. The aggravation and insane level of frustration stems from things that are unexpected, out of control and do not meet my expectations. This is my trifecta for stress and aggravation. When these three conditions converge, a switch flips for me and I get pissed.
Just like my experience with my truck, this assignment (as well as the others late assignments) was not what I had expected from a high school class and it’s not a type of paper that I would choose to write. It was completely out of my control and the outcome does not meet my expectations. Ask me to write a scary story and I’ll write you a novel. Ask me to write a memoir, this is what you get... simply a result of the perfect trifecta.