I stood by the sink and stared at my hands. Black...coal black. Then I took a gander at the empty soap dispenser. It had been half-full upon my arrival. Now it was entirely gone and my hands were still black...coal black. I turned the water off. It was a useless task: that of trying to wash my hands. The blackness will never come off. I slumped to the floor crying. The first tear hit the ground at the same time that I did.
Why? Why did I have to do that? Why? Why were my hands still black? Why? Why wouldn't it just wash away? Why? Why won't the memories wash away as well? Why?
I lie on the ground next to the sink, hiding my hands in my pockets. I couldn't stand the sight of them.
Why? Why did I have to dabble in this and that? Why? Why was I ignorant, not knowing that my dabbling would turn my hands black...coal black? Why? Why didn't I know then that by my dabbling, my black hands would mark me for the rest of my life? Why?
The clock struck five. It was time for me to leave. I can't go out in public like this. What will people think? I can't show my hands, black and gritty and dirty from the world. My hands will certainly reveal where I have been. No one can know.For about half an hour, I wrestled within myself. Should I leave? I can't leave...my hands. My dirty, coal black hands. But I have to leave. I made a promise. I have to be there. But I can't. My hands. My dirty, worldly, coal black hands. I stood up and walked directly to my room. My hands will still residing in my pockets. I closed my weary eyes and took my black hands out. My hands groped in this darkness. I found the gloves and put them on. It was the perfect solution. Now no one can see that my hands are marked from the coal black dirtiness of the world.
I opened my eyes.It was completely dark in the room now. Night had fallen and I had fallen too, apparently. I was lying on the floor of my bedroom, my gloves still hiding my hands. I sat up and tried to recall what had happened. I looked around my room for a sign. And I found it. Lots of it.Everything that I had touched while I was trying to find my gloves was black...coal black. Everything.
I took the gloves off and brought my hand to touch my face. With just the slightest touch from my fingertips, a black mark appeared on my rosy cheek.
Everywhere I touched turned black...coal black. Everything I touched became dirty and soon possessed the mark of my dirty, worldly, coal black hands.Everything.
2.25.2009
Reality's Dream
How can you laugh and cry at the same time? How can one person be so different yet still be themselves? How can something seem like a dream but be reality incarnate?
---------
"Mom, this is Tiffany and Amanda."
"Who?" she said with a tired breath.
"Tiffany and manda," she explained again, just as she had been doing all day.
"Oh! Hi, Tiffy." They touched hands.
"Hi, Grandma. We came to visit you."
"Hi, Grandma. This is manda." We sat near the side of the room.
She talked about things that didn't make sense, all in very tired breaths. She put her arms up to make a gesture but they would fall back down to her side as she lie on the reclined hospital bed.She talked about a sandwich. She said she was hungry. She said she was thristy. Tiff fed her applesauce.
"Where'd it go?" she questioned.
"Where'd what go, grandma?" Tiff asked.
"I keep looking up. I keep looking up to swallow the applesauce. Where'd it go?"
"I think you swallowed it, grandma."
--------
Although I had made a promise that I would "be strong" and not cry while I was in the room, I realized I had broken it as the tears rolled down my face. It was hard to see my grandma so....out of it.....so not herself. But then she would smile and all of that would go away. She would make some comment that would remind me of sitting by a fire cuddled in a blanket at her house. It's a warm feeling. But then I would remember that we were in hospital and she hadn't been doing very well.
-------
"I had a terrible dream," she started. She repeated, "I had a terrible dream."
"What was it about, grandma?" Tiff questioned.
"Well, a dream." She seemed to think that this explanation was sufficient. Tiff asked her again and she continued.
"I dreamed I was in a hospital. I was in a hospital and I couldn't get out. They wouldn't let me out. No one would help me out." She kept repeating it: "...wouldn't let me out...no one would help me out.....I couldn't get out of the hospital."
With this we all weren't sure whether it was a dream to her; but this dream was in fact, reality.
"They'll let you go when you get better. If they let you go now, then they can't give you medicine. When you're better, they'll let you go home, Mom. Ok?" my mom explained, with that comfort in her voice.
"That's what was terrible. I thought it was home but it was a hospital and they wouldn't let me go," she continued.
-------
Tiff and Gabriel left. It was only my mom and I left in the room. My mom soon decided that she wanted to use the restroom, which would mean that I would be left alone with my grandma.I was honestly afraid of staying alone with my grandma. She just wasn't herself...for the most part. (It did seem that the longer we were there, the more like herself she became. I'd like to think that we're the only medicine she needs...) What if something went wrong? I surely wouldn't be able to deal with it. Would I be able to perform under that pressure?
-------
"Mom, I'm going to the restroom but manda's here. She's gonna stay with you. I'll be right back, ok?" my mom said.
"Ok," my grandma replied. She looked over at me. I had just moved to the chair right beside her bed.
She sat for a minute. And then, in her usual way of saying things(as if she were perfectly fine and normal), she said, "So, you're gonna stay with me?" she smiled.
"Yeah. That's right, grandma. I'm going to stay with you for a little while," I reassured her.....and myself.
"Well, that's nice."
"Yeah, I'm going to keep you company because it can get boring here, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's boring here......boring.....it's boring..." and then she faded off into somebody I don't know.
She kept doing this the whole time: she was "herself", then somebody else. It killed me, it really did.
She fidgeted with her arms like something was bothering them. Then she murmured some comment about her not being able to find it.
"What are you looking for, grandma?"
She was trying to explain to me the feeling of when your arms have just been sitting for a while. She was trying to find the word to describe that feeling.
"I just can't think of the word," she finally gave up.
--------
An EKG tech came into the room. He was talking about this and that. My grandma piped up: "This is my granddaughter." She said it so proud-like. And I was proud of her. I knew her.
--------
My mom came back and stood near the side of the bed.
"I'm back, mom."
"Hi." She paused for a little while then spoke again. "How are you supposed to drive with a rubber band on your hand like that?"
"Yeah, it would be difficult to drive with a rubber band on your hand," I replied. I had no clue what she was talking about. I didn't know her. I wanted to cry again.
My mom and I eventually discovered that the hospital bandage on her wrist was bothering her. But how she came up with the rubber band and driving we don't know. We don't know how she came up with half of the things she said.
---------
But in her own defense: My uncle called while we were there. My mom was talking to my uncle on the phone explaining how she was doing and such. "She's not her normal self. She's not thinking very clearly....." My grandma, over-hearing this, piped up: "I'm thinking clearly.....I'm thinking clearly.....thinking clearly..." I knew her.
--------
We said our goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows....if this was indeed reality and not just "a terrible dream."
---------
I cried and laughed at the same time. I laughed because what she was saying didn't make sense and was indeed entirely funny. I cried because this wasn't the person I knew. I laughed.....I cried.I knew this was reality: my being at the hospital, visiting my grandma who wasn't entirely there. My grandma was herself but also something entirely different. I knew her one moment; I didn't know her the next. I wanted it to be a dream, just like my grandma thought she had.
Maybe I'm just not thinking clearly.
---------
"Mom, this is Tiffany and Amanda."
"Who?" she said with a tired breath.
"Tiffany and manda," she explained again, just as she had been doing all day.
"Oh! Hi, Tiffy." They touched hands.
"Hi, Grandma. We came to visit you."
"Hi, Grandma. This is manda." We sat near the side of the room.
She talked about things that didn't make sense, all in very tired breaths. She put her arms up to make a gesture but they would fall back down to her side as she lie on the reclined hospital bed.She talked about a sandwich. She said she was hungry. She said she was thristy. Tiff fed her applesauce.
"Where'd it go?" she questioned.
"Where'd what go, grandma?" Tiff asked.
"I keep looking up. I keep looking up to swallow the applesauce. Where'd it go?"
"I think you swallowed it, grandma."
--------
Although I had made a promise that I would "be strong" and not cry while I was in the room, I realized I had broken it as the tears rolled down my face. It was hard to see my grandma so....out of it.....so not herself. But then she would smile and all of that would go away. She would make some comment that would remind me of sitting by a fire cuddled in a blanket at her house. It's a warm feeling. But then I would remember that we were in hospital and she hadn't been doing very well.
-------
"I had a terrible dream," she started. She repeated, "I had a terrible dream."
"What was it about, grandma?" Tiff questioned.
"Well, a dream." She seemed to think that this explanation was sufficient. Tiff asked her again and she continued.
"I dreamed I was in a hospital. I was in a hospital and I couldn't get out. They wouldn't let me out. No one would help me out." She kept repeating it: "...wouldn't let me out...no one would help me out.....I couldn't get out of the hospital."
With this we all weren't sure whether it was a dream to her; but this dream was in fact, reality.
"They'll let you go when you get better. If they let you go now, then they can't give you medicine. When you're better, they'll let you go home, Mom. Ok?" my mom explained, with that comfort in her voice.
"That's what was terrible. I thought it was home but it was a hospital and they wouldn't let me go," she continued.
-------
Tiff and Gabriel left. It was only my mom and I left in the room. My mom soon decided that she wanted to use the restroom, which would mean that I would be left alone with my grandma.I was honestly afraid of staying alone with my grandma. She just wasn't herself...for the most part. (It did seem that the longer we were there, the more like herself she became. I'd like to think that we're the only medicine she needs...) What if something went wrong? I surely wouldn't be able to deal with it. Would I be able to perform under that pressure?
-------
"Mom, I'm going to the restroom but manda's here. She's gonna stay with you. I'll be right back, ok?" my mom said.
"Ok," my grandma replied. She looked over at me. I had just moved to the chair right beside her bed.
She sat for a minute. And then, in her usual way of saying things(as if she were perfectly fine and normal), she said, "So, you're gonna stay with me?" she smiled.
"Yeah. That's right, grandma. I'm going to stay with you for a little while," I reassured her.....and myself.
"Well, that's nice."
"Yeah, I'm going to keep you company because it can get boring here, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's boring here......boring.....it's boring..." and then she faded off into somebody I don't know.
She kept doing this the whole time: she was "herself", then somebody else. It killed me, it really did.
She fidgeted with her arms like something was bothering them. Then she murmured some comment about her not being able to find it.
"What are you looking for, grandma?"
She was trying to explain to me the feeling of when your arms have just been sitting for a while. She was trying to find the word to describe that feeling.
"I just can't think of the word," she finally gave up.
--------
An EKG tech came into the room. He was talking about this and that. My grandma piped up: "This is my granddaughter." She said it so proud-like. And I was proud of her. I knew her.
--------
My mom came back and stood near the side of the bed.
"I'm back, mom."
"Hi." She paused for a little while then spoke again. "How are you supposed to drive with a rubber band on your hand like that?"
"Yeah, it would be difficult to drive with a rubber band on your hand," I replied. I had no clue what she was talking about. I didn't know her. I wanted to cry again.
My mom and I eventually discovered that the hospital bandage on her wrist was bothering her. But how she came up with the rubber band and driving we don't know. We don't know how she came up with half of the things she said.
---------
But in her own defense: My uncle called while we were there. My mom was talking to my uncle on the phone explaining how she was doing and such. "She's not her normal self. She's not thinking very clearly....." My grandma, over-hearing this, piped up: "I'm thinking clearly.....I'm thinking clearly.....thinking clearly..." I knew her.
--------
We said our goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows....if this was indeed reality and not just "a terrible dream."
---------
I cried and laughed at the same time. I laughed because what she was saying didn't make sense and was indeed entirely funny. I cried because this wasn't the person I knew. I laughed.....I cried.I knew this was reality: my being at the hospital, visiting my grandma who wasn't entirely there. My grandma was herself but also something entirely different. I knew her one moment; I didn't know her the next. I wanted it to be a dream, just like my grandma thought she had.
Maybe I'm just not thinking clearly.
2.15.2009
T.H. River
So, basically I'm such a dork when it comes to words and letters and manipulating them. I was sitting in church and my brother wanted me to write something on his hand. I sat, thinking of all the things I knew, and the endless possibility of the things I could write. One of the first things that popped into my head was the word "river". I have no clue why; it was just there. I tried to think of several other words that would have more meaning to my brother. But, alas, nothing else came into my head. My mind always found a way to wander back to the "river". I succumbed. I wrote "river" on his hand.
Then, I saw something: my eyes saw the word "thrive" from the word "river." It was at this point that I recalled the Kaiser Permanente commercials, when the woman's voice says "Thrive" in such an appealing and unforgettable way. I wanted to incorporate thrive somehow into river, but I also wanted to keep the river. So, I made it into a name format, comming up with "T.H. River". In essence, it says "thriver".
I couldn't rid my mind of these happenings for the rest of the day. I just kept thinking about T.H. River and the fact that he is apparently a thriver. I thought, "I want to be a thriver."
Could this be a new pen name? Or just another one? A sub-pen name? Or a new outlook on life and how to live? Either way, I love the idea of being known as "T.H. River", as a "thriver".
Signed,
Living above,
T.H. River
S.s fratello
Then, I saw something: my eyes saw the word "thrive" from the word "river." It was at this point that I recalled the Kaiser Permanente commercials, when the woman's voice says "Thrive" in such an appealing and unforgettable way. I wanted to incorporate thrive somehow into river, but I also wanted to keep the river. So, I made it into a name format, comming up with "T.H. River". In essence, it says "thriver".
I couldn't rid my mind of these happenings for the rest of the day. I just kept thinking about T.H. River and the fact that he is apparently a thriver. I thought, "I want to be a thriver."
Could this be a new pen name? Or just another one? A sub-pen name? Or a new outlook on life and how to live? Either way, I love the idea of being known as "T.H. River", as a "thriver".
Signed,
Living above,
T.H. River
S.s fratello
2.04.2009
Finger Painting Through Life
I am the "Queen of Inhibtion."
I am afraid of too much so that I never try anything or do anything.
My choice then is that of inaction. And just because of fear.
My drawing teacher introduces new concepts in class all the time.
She says, "Don't worry whether you are doing it right or not, just do it.
Like finger painting. Just get into it and muddled around. Eventuallyyou'll find it."
I thing I have discovered: I cannot be the Queen of Inhibition and
finger paint at the same time.
I MUST lose my inhibitions first.
This finger painting concept does not just apply to drawing class.
On the contrary. It is a life lesson.
I must finger paint my way through life and step down from the throne
as the Queen of Inhibition.
Finger paint.Simple as that.
S.s fratello
I am afraid of too much so that I never try anything or do anything.
My choice then is that of inaction. And just because of fear.
My drawing teacher introduces new concepts in class all the time.
She says, "Don't worry whether you are doing it right or not, just do it.
Like finger painting. Just get into it and muddled around. Eventuallyyou'll find it."
I thing I have discovered: I cannot be the Queen of Inhibition and
finger paint at the same time.
I MUST lose my inhibitions first.
This finger painting concept does not just apply to drawing class.
On the contrary. It is a life lesson.
I must finger paint my way through life and step down from the throne
as the Queen of Inhibition.
Finger paint.Simple as that.
S.s fratello
Clustery Nugget of Hurt
He had a little hurt. ("Hurt" can be interpreted her as a noun or verb). It was a mere scratch on his wrist. He decided he needed to fix that hurt, heal it, as it were. For optimum results, one would obviously think he would employ the use of a bandaid, and rubbing alcohol to fix the hurt. But that is not what he chose to use. He, instead, chose to cover the hurt(as would a bandaid) with yet more hurt. He found this made the hurt larger. He let it go for a few days, but then it really started to irritate him...indeed "hurt" him.
Again, he sought to heal the bigger hurt. But again, not with a bandaid and alcohol, but instead with yet a larger hurt. Now he had tripled his hurt. He realized its badness right away. He sought to fix this hurt. But he didn't make the right decision again this time. Instead of a bandaid, he covered the large hurt with a more humongous hurt. Yet again he realized the bigness of the hurt and sought to heal it. He covered the humongous hurt with a ginormous hurt. And he covered the ginormous hurt with a more gigantic hurt. To cover the gigantic hurt, he used a more enormous hurt. By this time, his whole body was infected with hurt.
__
He had swell intentions for healing his own hurt, but each decision made his hurt worse. He just covered his hurt with bigger hurt.
This is not a way to live....or even die.
S.s fratello
Again, he sought to heal the bigger hurt. But again, not with a bandaid and alcohol, but instead with yet a larger hurt. Now he had tripled his hurt. He realized its badness right away. He sought to fix this hurt. But he didn't make the right decision again this time. Instead of a bandaid, he covered the large hurt with a more humongous hurt. Yet again he realized the bigness of the hurt and sought to heal it. He covered the humongous hurt with a ginormous hurt. And he covered the ginormous hurt with a more gigantic hurt. To cover the gigantic hurt, he used a more enormous hurt. By this time, his whole body was infected with hurt.
__
He had swell intentions for healing his own hurt, but each decision made his hurt worse. He just covered his hurt with bigger hurt.
This is not a way to live....or even die.
S.s fratello
Sarah's Case
I had never been THAT close to Sarah. I had only ever watched her from a distance. But today I would get close to her. I didn't really like the idea of being so close to her. I didn't even like her. For the first few weeks, I observed her habits and will now document them for you.1] She is always late.2] Her cellphone always rings.3] Her clothes are rather simple in nature.4] She talks as though she is a philosopher.But sitting close to her I observed one more thing: she smelss...as in bad. As soon as she walked in(late, as usual) I could smell her scent instantly. And as if that weren't bad enough, she decided to sit directly in front of me. Sarah was wearing a hat today; one which was off white in color, slightly dirty. She employed many different textures in her outfit: from the wool hat, to the cotton shirt, to the rough denim pants, to the plaid tennis shoes. Her long, blond, strangly hair hanged under her hat, seemingly unbrushed; or maybe wind-jossled violently. She came in the room, rushing as usual and sat quickly, as I breathed her in. Not pleasant. And then she slouched, legs far spread. Her arms were planted on the desk straight in front of her as she made herself quite comfortable. Her scraggley hair touched my desk. Eww. I said nothing. I did not want to offend Sarah. She is not the type to mess with, or so it seems. I knew the smell, a bad scent indeed. We broke into groups and lucky me, she was in my group. She talked as a philosopher about existentialism, religion, fate, choices, labyrinths, and life. She even has the philosopher voice. The voice that sounds "I'm-so-much-better-than-you..." You know the one. She uses this voice to say everything. And everything she says is stupid. Take, for example, her statement from the first day: "I made a square snowman." Then she just slouched in her chair again. Yeah, that's Sarah. Can't stand. So this day she is sitting in front of me...reaking of badness. I describe her scent as such:The scent that occurs when one, already dirty and unbathed, spends a LONG--a VERY LONG- time in a smelly bathroom, that resurfaces to the outside world. Then this very smelly one continues on with life, wearing these very smelly clothes, and having smelly greasy hair, and having smelly underarms. Then add that with a bad attitude and a philosopher voice, and you've got:
SARAH: my repulsive classmate.
SARAH: my repulsive classmate.
Food, Water, and Cash BANKS
So I cashed it...It was just that simple. I walked into an unknown bank;well, at least unknown to me. I knew I was in the right place jus by the smell of the place. The smell of the bank--every bank smells the same. It's what distinguishes it from other institutions, such as a hospital or a dentist office. All hospitals have the same smell, and that very smell distinguishes it as a hospital. Oh, the distinguishes scents of special institutions! Same with the bank. I just walked in and knew it was a bank. While I stood in line, I tried to figure out what the smell was exactly. Could it be that of greed? Or myabe paper? Indeed freshly minted monies? Or perhaps poverty and loans? Credit, anyone? Whatever it be, 'tis the scent of a bank. The other people's bank business seemed to take awhile. All of them had a special case. But not me. On the contrary, I was just there to cash a check.
Fo[u]r Me
I'll take one fo[u]r the world.
I'll take two fo[u]r my friends.
I'll take three fo[u]r my family.
I'll take four fo[u]r me.
But I'm only taking fo[u]r.
If I take five, it will be too much fo[u]r me.
And if I take six, it will be even worse fo[u]r me.
Being in my square box is the best fo[u]r me.
Having the lights out is better fo[u]r me.
Only taking four is good fo[u]r me.
I'll take fo[u]r and no more.
S.s fratello
I'll take two fo[u]r my friends.
I'll take three fo[u]r my family.
I'll take four fo[u]r me.
But I'm only taking fo[u]r.
If I take five, it will be too much fo[u]r me.
And if I take six, it will be even worse fo[u]r me.
Being in my square box is the best fo[u]r me.
Having the lights out is better fo[u]r me.
Only taking four is good fo[u]r me.
I'll take fo[u]r and no more.
S.s fratello
Is 3
A few is 3.
A group is 3.
Crosses is 3.
Cups is 3.
Isaiah is 3.
Trembling is 3.
A love triangle is 3.
We is 3.
We is held together by 3.
S.s fratello
A group is 3.
Crosses is 3.
Cups is 3.
Isaiah is 3.
Trembling is 3.
A love triangle is 3.
We is 3.
We is held together by 3.
S.s fratello
What's White and Fluffy?
Well, lemme tell ya'. It's my Winter Term 2009 Class Schedule. Still don't see it? Well, lemme explain myself.
First class of M/W: Drawing Class. I took this same class last term with the same teacher and I plan to take it again next term. (You can take the class up to 3 times for a credit). In short, I love the teacher and the atmosphere of the class. Music is constantly playing in the background so you really get to hear alot of different music; some good, some bad. This term focuses on faces, hands, and feet. I have finally mastered the hand drawing! Yay for me. The teacher mainly teaches about discovery, and teaches you how to see. She doesn't really teach you where to put the lines on your paper or go out and tell you how to draw a bike or a skate. I really like her style of teaching. She's great.
"No coloring book drawings."
Second class of M/W: Intro to Lit(Fiction). I love this class!! I hated Lit in highschool and hated reading all my life, but this class I love. The teacher says absolutely funny things and is really sarcastic and stuff. He really had a way to make the class open up, even on the first day of class.
Oh, and David said "Fuck" on the first day of class. Context: "He fucks her." Man I love this class.
Third class of M/W: Writing 122(writing with argumentation). It took me the first two weeks of class to decide whether or not I actually like this class and the teacher. And then the third week it hit me: I HATE THIS CLASS!!!!!! I wouldn't mind writing; but that's not the issue. What we do is read alot--ALOT--of articles that supposedly contain some type of argumentation. We are also supposed to look over a few chapters for homework. Then, when we get to class, we discuss these articles ad naseum about race, and stereotypes, and bias and the such like(which gets really old after about the second class). Then she shows a short power point slide show about the chapter we were supposed to have looked over briefly. The chapters actually tell us how to write an argument. She gives the least amount of time to talking about the chapters. Then she tells us to write a paper using such and such an argument form. But we have no clue what that is because we don't really go over that. We just read freakin' articles. You can see my frustration with this process. And she always ends her phrases with "...kind of a thing." Really annoying.
M/W is over. Then I have F.
Only class of F: Sculpture with Mixed Media. It's a 6 hour class, which seems long but it actually isn't when your working on something. (And it harder to take apart a piece of furniture than you may actually think. Try it some time). Some of the things we do in that class are technical, which I have absolutely no patience for. But maybe that class is good for me in that aspect. Confession: I'm afraid of the table saw. I vow not to use it. I will not use it. I hate the table saw. One thing I have noticed is that I see things entirely different now(the drawing class may have some influence in this too). I don't see something as what it actually is, I see what it could become or what it could be turned into.
Anyway, everything's amazing basically."Be illogical." Mastered that one.So, there you have it. I am taking art, drawing, reading, and writing. They're fluff classes, nothing with substance some would say. They are just fluff. And I love it.
Welcome to Winter Term.
S.s fratello
First class of M/W: Drawing Class. I took this same class last term with the same teacher and I plan to take it again next term. (You can take the class up to 3 times for a credit). In short, I love the teacher and the atmosphere of the class. Music is constantly playing in the background so you really get to hear alot of different music; some good, some bad. This term focuses on faces, hands, and feet. I have finally mastered the hand drawing! Yay for me. The teacher mainly teaches about discovery, and teaches you how to see. She doesn't really teach you where to put the lines on your paper or go out and tell you how to draw a bike or a skate. I really like her style of teaching. She's great.
"No coloring book drawings."
Second class of M/W: Intro to Lit(Fiction). I love this class!! I hated Lit in highschool and hated reading all my life, but this class I love. The teacher says absolutely funny things and is really sarcastic and stuff. He really had a way to make the class open up, even on the first day of class.
Oh, and David said "Fuck" on the first day of class. Context: "He fucks her." Man I love this class.
Third class of M/W: Writing 122(writing with argumentation). It took me the first two weeks of class to decide whether or not I actually like this class and the teacher. And then the third week it hit me: I HATE THIS CLASS!!!!!! I wouldn't mind writing; but that's not the issue. What we do is read alot--ALOT--of articles that supposedly contain some type of argumentation. We are also supposed to look over a few chapters for homework. Then, when we get to class, we discuss these articles ad naseum about race, and stereotypes, and bias and the such like(which gets really old after about the second class). Then she shows a short power point slide show about the chapter we were supposed to have looked over briefly. The chapters actually tell us how to write an argument. She gives the least amount of time to talking about the chapters. Then she tells us to write a paper using such and such an argument form. But we have no clue what that is because we don't really go over that. We just read freakin' articles. You can see my frustration with this process. And she always ends her phrases with "...kind of a thing." Really annoying.
M/W is over. Then I have F.
Only class of F: Sculpture with Mixed Media. It's a 6 hour class, which seems long but it actually isn't when your working on something. (And it harder to take apart a piece of furniture than you may actually think. Try it some time). Some of the things we do in that class are technical, which I have absolutely no patience for. But maybe that class is good for me in that aspect. Confession: I'm afraid of the table saw. I vow not to use it. I will not use it. I hate the table saw. One thing I have noticed is that I see things entirely different now(the drawing class may have some influence in this too). I don't see something as what it actually is, I see what it could become or what it could be turned into.
Anyway, everything's amazing basically."Be illogical." Mastered that one.So, there you have it. I am taking art, drawing, reading, and writing. They're fluff classes, nothing with substance some would say. They are just fluff. And I love it.
Welcome to Winter Term.
S.s fratello
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