"Just a bit of sillyness really"

I call myself a writer but I'm brave enough to admit that eloquently brilliant words and phrases do not just automatically flow in one long string from my brain through my wrist into my pen and onto my paper.

Sometimes I have to work on it just like other people.

And one of the ways I work on it is by playing writing games with myself. Yes, I do play with myself - its one of those things you learn to do well when you have no friends. A common writing prompt is to write a free-verse poem in some sort of established structure: you fill a certain shape, or all the words have to have the same number of letters, or you can't use the letter "e" in any word, or it all follows a particular rhythm. One of my favorites is to put the letters A-Z down the side of a page and then write, making each new line start with a word beginning with that next letter in the alphabet.

I came across one of these exercises in my journal tonight. I wrote it roughly 8 months ago.

attitudes arise within me threatening to
break out of the bonds I've submerged them under
causing
drops of blood
everywhere inside. and I'm leaking
feeling dissipates, like I'm
going numb from the extremities inward. only
heartbeats
imitating a life. but its a lie
just another pretend
keeping secrets locked away
like I don't really care about them. but...
maybe...hm...maybe
not.
over. I just want everything to be over.
people are shallow. I want to
quit this. quit school. quit life
run away, just
show up
there. home. I want to go home.
understanding is just past my reach. It's like I'm on the
verge of enlightenment. of assurance. of stability.
wait. be still. search for the sign, the arrow, the big
X that marks the spot
yes? oh. thank you. how embarrassing to be caught with your
zipper down.

I think I had watched a deeply symbolic movie just prior to writing that - something like The Fountain. I like it though.

I followed it up with a catchy little limerick:

I want to go home to bed.
I'd gladly just shoot them all dead.
We can't get through a scene
They just laugh and they scream
We'll never get one full act read.

And I completed the writing exercises of the night with this haiku (you can see how productive I am during rehearsals...):

I live in grey shades
Like wherever Dorothy lives
I want some color

And on that note, I bid you all goodnight.

What College is All About

Its been a bad day.

I was sick last night, but I did my homework. I stayed up late, I poured over the text book and the play, I took notes, I learned things. I was ready for the quiz.

The syllabus said both were assigned but that the quiz would be on the text.
He handed out a quiz on the play.

The students start talking at once saying how his syllabus said it was just the text quiz and that we wouldn't be quizzed on the play.

"But both were assigned for today, right?" he asked.
"Well...yes...but..." came the scattered replies.
"Did you read the play?"
"No....I didn't have enough time..." came from around the room.
-sigh- "How many of you did read the play?" the prof asked.

About 3 of us raised our hands.

"Fine." he said after many tense remarks. "Read it for Tuesday. Expect a quiz on it on Tuesday."
"NO you cant do that!" came the cry from around the room. "Our exam is on Tuesday! You can't give us a test and an exam on the same day!"
"Fine." he said again after more tense remarks. "Read it for Thursday. Expect a quiz on it on Thursday."

The class seemed fine with that.
I, however, was not. Thursday is the day I miss class because I have a visit to a grad school. My professor knew about this, and I knew that I was accepting a 0 on the quiz scheduled for that day (we have a quiz every day). I cannot afford, though, to take two 0's simply because my classmates didn't do their homework and so got an extra week of leniency.

I asked my professor about it after class.
His response was "That's why I give you two drop grades." End of story.
"Then why did I bother to do my homework?" I asked him.
"You do your homework because you want to LEARN." he said. "Not because you get graded on it."
Not true. He must not remember his undergraduate days.

I came home in tears. Which sounds awfully shallow now, but I was sick, and angry, and when those two things connect then I tend to be overly emotional.
I discussed it with my parents and put together an extremely polite yet firm email restating my position and requesting him to reconsider allowing me to take the one quiz from today on Tuesday, and allowing me to take just the one 0 for the originally scheduled Thursday quiz.
I pointed out that while I should be doing my homework for the sake of learning, unfortunately our educational system puts the emphasis on grades and that my transcript is what goes before me to whatever grad school I may consider.
I pointed out that he bended the rules for a majority in the class who didn't do their assignment, and that none of them were given the exam anyway with the reminder that they get two drop grades.
I pointed out that if I take those two 0s than if something should happen to keep me out of class or make me too late for the quiz, then the additional 0s or low grades would pull down my grade for the class, which would lower my GPA.
I pointed out that the grad school I'm going to had to go out of their way to get interpreters for me because they've never had to deal with a deaf student before, and certainly not one in theatre, and that if I arrive late because I stayed in town long enough to take his quizzes, then I'd have made an extremely bad impression on them.
Indirectly I tried to point out that I would have gotten a decent grade on this quiz, and now I'm guaranteed a 0, and all of the others who were guaranteed a 0 now have the shot at a perfect score. In a way, I feel like he is encouraging the laziness he claims he abhors, and dismissing the hard work he claims he respects.


If we as students hate this kind of treatment in our colleges, how would we feel about it if society has become like that once we're in the working world?
Because, as he says, this is his way of "sharing the wealth."

In flew Enza

This particular image has been haunting my imagination lately. I first saw it on Monday during my Victorian America class when we watched a video about the Influenza Epidemic of 1918. The children made up a little chant to jump rope to, and it goes like this:

I had a little bird,
It's name was Enza.
I opened the window,
and in flew Enza.

Then, throughout the video it would overlay that scene in a haze so that the chanting mixed in with the other background voices/crying/music, and it would also be used to have just the children's voices as background for a shot of multiple open graves, or hospital wards crammed full with beds and cots and other sprawled on the floors. It was eerie on Monday and it still makes this horribly stale pit in the bottom of my stomach.

But that could also connect to the fact that I came home early from rehearsal last night because I suddenly felt ill and discovered I had a fever.
Perhaps I opened my window, and in flew Enza.

It was just that time

I have a very short attention span when it comes to blogs. It seems that over the last year or so I have started a brand new blog with each major life transition. And each only lasted until the next major life transition. None of which were maintained with any regularity for more than a couple weeks. (It would seem that my entire life is really a major transition.)

I have no reason to expect this one to be otherwise, but I felt that that was no reason to discriminate against this blog's chance of survival.

So, embark with me on this brand new journey that we will call:

The Rest Of Senior Year.

(If you choose to insert creepy music -dun dun dun- here, please flip to page 182.
If you choose to insert castle trumpet music -dun da da DUN!!- please flip to page 12)