Post-War Zone of Homework

                Notebooks opened to lengthy notes. Packets of paper scattered with random highlighted lines. Empty bottles of water here are there. A large plate with half eaten snacks laid on top of the piles of paper. My hair was in a knotty, unmanageable top bun. I was still in my froyo stained and bleach smelling work clothes. I had completely made my dining room a post-war zone of homework. Tonight I had to manage the store and lock up causing me to not get home till close to 12 on a school night. The pressure of being in high school and being a manager had finally hit. Everyone was impressed by how I was able to cope with having a part time job and still keep up my grades in school. All of the praise had gave me a false sense of having to continue the good work and not take a break for myself. The stress hit me like a ton of bricks which led to me having a small breakdown. I have always been a strong person with the ability to keep myself together so it hurt my family when they saw me crying and freaking out. My mother couldn’t handle seeing me in that state which caused her to also become upset. She told me that I needed a break but I knew I had to get my work done. That night I stayed up till the early hours of the morning and still went to school the next day with dark circles and bags under my eyes. Even with this incident, I’m still a workaholic.