lykomancer | Is it over? Can I die now?

I am currently enjoying the the feeling of my brain trying to forcefully escape through my eyes. I'm tired, sleepy, hungry, and I have two hours to go until my three hour long class.

I was scheduled to work this week forty hours-- yep, full time-- including working Thursday (which I requested off so that I had one guaranteed homework day), plus had a two-page paper to write and about four hundred pages of reading to do. I talked to my boss about Thursday, and all she was giving me was a "well, we'll have to work something out."
I worked from one until 8 yesterday, and that means I needed Tom to pick me up, as the bus doesn't run after 7. I also found out that Sheri left me a note asking if I could come in at 8:30 today instead of 10 like I was scheduled. Now, I already knew Tom was going to be late, but he ended up running later than he expected and didn't show up until ten after nine. So, I was sitting outside, freezing cold, thinking about all my homework, and knowing that I had to be back at work in twelve hours for roughly forty-five minutes.
I yelled at Tom in the car, and when we got home it was pretty quiet until I got out of the shower and threw myself on my couch and Tom tried to explain why he was late.
And I started fucking crying.
No, not frustrated crying, not I'm upset stuff, but real barking, gasping sobs. And I start in on Tom. About how the garbage needs to be taken out and he won't goddamm do it, and that he works so much less than me and he's only taking one more class that me (and yes, I know that one class means driving up to Ashland and everything that goes along with teaching), and how tired I am, and how I don't feel that it's fair that he sleeps in half-way through my work day and plays solitaire on the computer all night when I'm doing reading for class, and so on and so forth.

I don't think that got us anywhere.

First, he declared that he understood that "it's just the depression speaking," which would have pissed me off more if I hadn't been sobbing uncontrollably at that point. Second, he just kind of shrugged it off saying that he worked all during college, only ever failed one class, and that I just sat around and played then and that now he's decided to take it easy on himself and I've decided to go into overdrive. (This resulted in me shrieking at him that I don't want to have to push so hard, but I don't see any other way to make ends meet, and that I wanted a better job.)

I dunno, I'm still frustrated. I'm pretty sure this is a whopper of a tension headache, and as soon as I disengage myself from the internet I'm hunting down some water and pills.

God, this fuckin' sucks.

Tommorrow, I have off. Tomorrow, I am GETTING SHIT DONE.
Tomorrow, I am taking back the twenty-three library books I have out, hitting up Nicolet Ave for Jenny (I have a few things to send up with Tom, too... not sure it they are anything you want in particular, but I figure you can figure out something to do with 'em), maybe getting a badly needed haircut, doing all my reading for Thursday's class.

I feel terrible. Doesn't it ever stop?