My mood is much lighter today. You know what I feel like doing? Singing. Loud. I want to stand in my room, plug in my iPod and sing my heart out. From my diaphragm, deep within me, and I want to gesticulate forcefully with every word. I want to dance. I want to loose myself in the music, throw myself about and expend all of this pent up energy and emotion out of tune.
The sky is dark and dreary, just how I like it. The air smells wet, but I see no moisture yet. We’ll see.
My classmates think I’m a bitch. Last night, I corrected the teacher a few times, and when he wasn’t sure of my correction, when he asked me to email him and we’d research the conundrum later, I pointed him to the page in our grammar-handbook that spelled out for him, B-A-R-B I-S R-I-G-H-T. He acknowledged it and thanked me for pointing out his errors, but I could sense him bristling just a little. Other classmates cracked a joke later that I “rubbed his nose in it.” I did no such thing. I suggested the correct grammar, he accepted, and we moved on.
It’s not my fault that I’m paying more than a thousand dollars to be taught grammar and basic writing communication styles by a half-wit who brags of his Coleman College degree as if it holds the same prestige as the Valedictorian of Harvard. It’s not my fault I’m surrounded by idiots. I’m sure my tale will change abruptly once I get into my upper division classes, once I’m actually learning something again. Until then, it’s bitching and frustration, and correcting my barely-educated instructor. He actually INSTRUCTED us to signpost our essays. If you don’t already know, signposting basically means “dumbing-down” the paper. For example, instead of writing a cohesive essay with an intro & thesis, body with 3 main points, and conclusion, allowing the reader to infer your message through your writing, he told us to write, “this paper is about such and such...,” “In this essay I will discuss this, this and this,” “In conclusion, blah blah blah.”
Stupid. So I actually have to cater to laziness and stupidity in order to get an A in this one. No problem, the only thing it will hurt is my dignity, and I’ve never been one to tout my dignity. If anything, I kick it out from under me as the meager price for laughter. Oh, how I come to know myself over time. And still, I surprise myself when something like that finds its way through my fingers while I type for my 10 minutes.
Tomorrow I’m getting my hair done. It’s been awhile. I’m keeping it long, but oh, what to do about color? I’ll surprise myself, and decide last minute. Look at me, planning capriciousness. One of these days, I’ll let go of my plan and try not to freak out. But there’s plenty of time for that. Especially if I plan it just right.