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The cheating secret earlier reminded me of this.

My junior year of high school, I took AP art. You had to do like 35 pieces in a semester. Well, I came up woefully short, even with a shitload of half-assed pieces I did really fast at the very end. Also my dog had died the night before submission day, and Iapos;d just also failed the AP US history test that day, so I sort of broke down and cried.

This girl saw how upset I was and offered to give me some of her extra pieces. The teacher decided to just look the other way, and then the next day the other chick told the principal and my teacher got fired. The really shitty thing about that is that she always acted like she loved him, he wrote her recommendation letters and got her into college, and then one of my other friends in the class asked if she was the one who told and she said "Yeah, I was never a fan of him anyway."

And my friend is still in contact with him, and he still hasnapos;t been able to find another job.

Tl;dr: I cheated and got my teacher fired.

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My husbandapos;s nephew, who is 15 years old is living with us. He arrived in the end of July and heapos;ll leave in January.
We thought that this might be a wonderful opportunity for him to spend six months in the US, improving his English and expanding his horizons.
I was the one who came up with the idea. I believed that I could learn a lot from this experience, from this exchange. Especially I believed that I could open myself more to love.
I never cared much about my in-laws and I donapos;t really know why.�They just seem too uninteresting to me, and they have an aura of melancholy that I find unattractive. They treat me nicely but I donapos;t feel and canapos;t find love for them in me.
I thought that the nephew being here, and connecting more with the way we live and experience life, would be a great opportunity for him to open up to other possibilities and help me make a connection to their family.
Heapos;s actually a very nice kid, he listens,�he adapts, heapos;s trying his�freaking best to�do everything right,� he�helps out in every way he can, he picks up and cleans up after himself, but he has a huge problem: heapos;s here. Heapos;s present. He exists.
Since the boy arrived, I find myself brooding over meaningless things. Every morning, after heapos;s gone to school, and my husband is at work, I find things to complain about, stewing this soup of bad energy. Not real things, just traces of his very existence in my house: a�dish towel thatapos;s not folded the right way, the mirror in his bathroom dotted with toothpaste residue, the loaf of bread that is gone in half a day, a can of soda that was put in the wrong trash.
And I realize that no matter how much I integrate him into our habits and little manias, no matter how much he learns of my little likes and preferences, Iapos;ll always find something else.
I came to this gloomy realization that nothing he does or doesnapos;t do will change the way I feel.
I seem incapable of opening up�to accept and love him.�
I donapos;t feel guilty about it�, �just sad.
Maybe I do care in my own weird way, and Iapos;ll only fully understand it once heapos;s gone. I might deeply regret that I didnapos;t make a better use of the time he was here, that I didnapos;t make the effort. But for now, I count the days for his departure, 3 months and 8 days to go.
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