It doesn’t really matter if I take an extra one N

I’ve been home since Tuesday. To see family before school starts. My internship ended on the 9th. So that gave me a few days to sort stuff out before I had to travel. I go back this Tuesday. In those short few days I kinda avoided the lab. Too ashamed that I didn’t meet my goal again. So talking to my advisor was going to be painful. Of course that was a bad move. Turns out he’s on sabbatical this semester. So before he leaves I need to talk to him or it will be too late. I had kicking around in my head the idea of taking an extra semester to finish things off. There’s a guy in our lab who took a little more than 3 years instead of the normal 2. So it’s not unheard of to take more time. And it seems since my advisor will be on other side of the world, that’s even more reason to take my time. I didn’t want to bring it up to my parents. I knew how they were going to react. But we had just seen a movie and my mom seemed to be in a good mood, so I thought it would be best to tell her. Of course she reacted how I thought she would. Completely negative. Not angry, but clearly upset. I don’t know why I do that. I know these people now. Their mannerisms. How they act. So I should have trusted my gut and kept my mouth shut. But of course I had to go and mess it up. So I’ve been half heartedly been trying to schedule an appointment with the advisor. Too scared to talk to him because I know he’ll be even more upset that I didn’t reach my goal. Even though I spent all those evenings in the lab making zero progress. Spending my weekends stuck in that stupid lab. Just screwing around like always. It really doesn’t matter if I take an extra semester. I could take 20 semesters and that wouldn’t change anything. It’s just me making excuses as usual. I don’t know. Things aren’t going to turn out well. I know that for a fact. When I crash and burn this semester, I can’t be surprised. If I am then my brain is more broken than I realize.