I seem to be the only one who saw that coming. It wasn't for failing to park correctly, or not looking at my signs. It was because I drove too slow, and stopped to soon. Which, I acknowledge, aren't good habits, but I figured they would be better off than driving too fast, or not stopping. You know? I mean whatever, I'm going back in ten days. And I did have one horrid turn, but one. I know it all. I didn't think I did that bad. I don't want to go back. I don't. Not ever. I don't want to drive enough to set myself up for that kind of disapointment, and I don't want to tell everyone about it on Monday. I more or less hyperventilated the whole way home, Steve pointed out that it was ok that I failed, I could go back in a couple weeks, but everything felt like critisizm. I obviously knew it wasn't, I cried anyways. For a long time. I'm just scared. Which was the other reason I failed. While be judged on my driving, in a car, with a police officer, on a street I've never been on, in a town I don't live on, I'm not supposed to be nervous at all. That OBVIOUSLY means I'm not comfortable behind the wheel and I OBVIOUSLY didn't complete my 40 hours like the paper said. Even though I more or less did. More than anyone else has.
Doesn't matter. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. It's 1:30 in the morning and I'm up eating walnuts and jello. I'm a little stressed out. I have so much school work. Projects, and absent work, and whatever. I hate being penalized for being sick. Why? Oh, and I had to leave early again to get to the DMV to be told that I sucked at driving and I should actually try practicing before coming back in 10 days.
It was a long day. I counted cookies all morning, and I was so nervous I would screw up. I hate counting.
I was at Steve's all night and I guess there would have been less upset about having to leave if I had been driving my own car home. Hadn't had to be picked up. And then sit through the uncomfortable drive home while my dad glances at me, disapointed. Great. What fun.