Young Offenders

My sincerest apologies for the short, cheap poetry I occasionally attempt.
Anyways, I got to thinking the other day about what makes me upset. Or what upsets me. Essentially, I can only be irritated if I'm jonesing for a cigarette or a cup of coffee, or if what I'm trying to avoid doing will directly screw over a person that shouldn't be screwed over. Aside from that, I tend to take full responsibility for everything that goes awry. Here's what I mean:
The phrase "you reap what you sow" makes a lot of sense to me. For instance, if I don't "sow" my homework," I won't "reap" and a good grade. That's fair. If I don't "sow" gas into my tank, I won't "reap" a running vehicle. And if I "sow" leaving-my-house-late-every-day, then I "reap" awkward-late-arrival-to-class.
I always figured this kind of mindset should go without saying, until Spanish class last year: a girl arrived half an hour late for the... I don't know, seventh time in a row, maybe. The teacher calls her out on this, and the girl proceeds to blame the teacher, the train, and the system of time-keeping that has been the standard for as long as I can remember. She didn't, interestingly enough, blame herself. The most memorable line went something like, "How can you expect me to get here by 9 o'clock every morning!?" I laughed (I'm late all the time, too, so I can assume that my laugh was especially insulting to this girl's crumbling perception of the world). I would have understood had this girl not had the opportunity to choose her own schedule and, for that matter, whether or not she would intend school in the first place.
I guess the only thing I'm trying to get at is some kind of justification for not stressing myself out and, simultaneously, laughing at people who do.
So yeah, that's it. It's more fun to treat life like a game: the train was late, which wasn't really my fault, but now it's something I have to deal with. Instead of making excuses for myself, I'll just ride out the day. If my teacher or boss gives me trouble for being late, I might mention why but I won't waste anybody's time trying to stress the point that "this wasn't my fault!" I, for one, do not care.

Sometimes this place feels more like an opium den than a coffee shop. The silence is awkward or intense or reminiscent of the past when I couldn't speak up to keep the bullies off my brother or the liquor out of my uncle. When the conversation comes it's in waves that beach unwanted fiends and addicts. And it isn't permitted to lay in the calm of the storm, so my feet wade in the limited reach of the lake while my eyes peer in a straight line about a hundred feet out and make sure the weather is still welcoming. Then the lighthouse turns my way, leading needed ships astray, or docking wreckage underneath my knees while I mean to pray for those that find them. But I don't (because that would be stupid).