Hey, you.
You’re that thing that’s been with me for 2.5 years now. Remember when you were nice and big after the first semester?
Now you look like you belong at Cheers.
The bad times with classes keep coming, and you keep getting smaller. Apparently, it’s all going to be okay. Apparently you may not have to be on my resume permanently. I mean, you aren’t so bad. You’re just bad enough that I don’t feel like sharing you. You’re like a relative that is always there but no one really wants to invite you back. I have instructed my parents to lie about you if they ever need too, but also to corroborate the story so people don’t catch on.
I’m known for being smart. The GPA situation doesn’t reflect that, but it’s supposed to. A GPA is something that’s supposed to sit, shining like a trophy, for everyone to gawk at. GPA’s are supposed to partially determine your entrance into the work force as well as future schooling. But they don’t show what you retain. They don’t show that there are just some classes you aren’t good at.
As much as I want to pack you up and send you on a permanent vacation, I’m stuck with you.