There was an urge to go to the bathroom. Out of my room I guided myself to the bathroom and finished my necessities. In my room I saw an email saying that today was Mountain Day, something that I had already suspected since three days ago. In my room I checked my phone, 6:45 in the morning, forty minutes left for me to go to a restorative circle in the reading room. And on time I had to arrive, if not more trouble would be waiting for me with Mr. Bee since I am responsible for the incident.
Every single one who was involved in the incident was reunited, we were seated in a circle with the maintenance of Hebron to talk about the matter of the fire extinguisher. I was thinking that I could not find my snowshoes, for a moment I thought if someone stole them as a prank, but then I remembered that I may have left it in my friend’s room because I stayed there for a while the day before.
At least I was relieved that nobody took them. In the meeting we apologized to the maintenance staff for the trouble that we caused them, and expressed regret that I did not have the guts to take responsibility, showing cowardness on my acts, and that my selfish acts provoked the accident to escalate. At the moment the meeting was done I slept another forty minutes.
By the time I wake up I realize I have been late. I was running to catch the van, I made it to the locker, but my skis were nowhere to be seen, someone took them. Instead I grabbed my snowboard and arrived at Lost Valley, and the sky the rest of the day; I needed to go to the bathroom so I left my stuff outside, when I returned, to my surprise, someone stole my helmet, I don’t have it anymore.
Now my day is ruined as I write this essay. It is not my day, and it’s not getting any better, and Ms waterman’s hug made me surpass my anger, but I am still frustrated. I am going to take a nap to get myself calmer, there is no reason to get angrier, that is going to make me mad with everybody.
Suddenly the frustration is gone, maybe the nap calmed me down, nah who am I lying to, I feel more frustrated because I dream of my stolen helmet, it feels like a joke. It is like if my brain is telling me, “you want to not be angry the whole day? Well, let’s make you dream how you got stolen so that you keep that streak.” Now my frustration has begun again, great.
