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Another one bites the dust. |
Thursday, October 5, 2000 Bleah Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I think I'll move to Australia. Hey, spring's just getting underway there. It must be nice.
Okay, perhaps I'm misstating the case a bit. It's not that today was so bad in itself; it's just that after a few frustrating weeks, I finally snapped. It helped a lot that I was short on sleep. Very short on sleep. I got about four hours last night, and I'd been a bit behind before then, and I still haven't really been getting anything done. So I was tired and cranky, and I didn't even manage to make it to class in time. Again. Despite grabbing a bus instead of walking all the way. So. It turned out that three of us skipped out on the whole nude model thing. We were told to paint each other instead. As I was out of the room at the time that the instructions were given (getting a soda, so that I could use the cup as a water container, having neglected to bring one), the other two painted each other, and I painted one of them, but nobody painted me. Except that I didn't manage to paint anybody else anyway. Not that I have the foggiest idea of how to paint a human figure in the first place; I never got that far. I was trying, to begin with, to paint the guy's easel. This required painting a diagonal line from the upper right corner to right of center on the bottom. This is not rocket science. In fact, since early in elementary school, I have been noted for my ability to draw straight lines without a ruler. I couldn't get the bloody angle right. Tried it the first time, added a couple of the hooks and the paper and stuff, and realized that the proportions were all wrong, and the angle seemed to be the problem. Tried to fix it. Couldn't. Ripped the canvas paper out of the pad, tore it into sixteen pieces, threw the works into the trash. Sketched out the easel on paper. Tried again. Still couldn't get the angle right. This is the point where I snapped, and began throwing paint onto the canvas at random. After which, resigned to failing the course, I gave up and started painting an abstract work instead, entitled "Student on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown."
Y'know, I rather like abstract paintings. The resulting work was the first piece I've been happy about all semester. I mean, it's got flaws, yes; the whole upper-left-hand corner needs to be redone, but it's also got some nice stuff going on in the lower right, and I know what needs to be changed, and have ideas for how to do it. None of which helps me in the least, 'cause that ain't the kind of painting we're doing in this class, and not only isn't it gonna get me any credit, but my failure to bloody paint somebody is yet another strike against me. But, honestly, if I can't get one straight line to come out properly, what chance do I have?
Yes, I know better, dammit. I have the wonderful mixed blessing of self-awareness, knowing full well just how self-defeating I'm being even as I'm pounding the nails into my own coffin. In some ways, that just makes matters worse. So I have the voice of reason screaming in my head that the better solution is to just muddle along on the assignment so that at least the professor gets the impression that I'm trying, and that dropping the whole thing is just a pitifully misguided attempt to regain the illusion of having control over the situation. Doesn't help any.
The crux of the matter is that I have no time for this class, or just about anything else. I need to paint more during the week, but I don't have any opportunity to do so. Which means no matter what I do during class itself, I'm screwed. Not that I can afford to drop the class entirely, either. Heavens, that would screw up any chance of my getting the scholarships that are screwing up my entire course schedule just now. I may scream.
Instead, I did the next best thing. Went to an obscure and generally unused stairwell in the building, and sang "Bohemian Rhapsody" from start to finish, including humming the musical solo parts. I was actually kinda impressed that I knew almost all the words.
Is this the real life?
I'm just a poor boy
Mom I...
Mama...
Too late
Mama... [Hum instrumental break]
I see a little
Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Figaro...
I'm just a poor boy;
Easy come, easy go,
(Bismilluh [sp?], no!
Oh, Mama Mia, [Hum guitar riff]
So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye?! [Hum long guitar break] (Ooooooh... oh, yeah...)
Nothing really matters... (Any way the wind blows...) [Gong!] Okay, I sang it softly, but still...
As I told a professor afterwards, it's probably a good thing I have no drinking experience. 'Cause otherwise I think I woulda headed to the nearest bar afterwards. No, the nearest karaoke bar, where I could sing depressing pop songs while drinking myself to a place where I didn't have to worry about not getting any of my work done and destroying my permanent record. But I don't have any such experience, and have never even been to a karaoke bar. I did briefly think of e-mailing Jen to see if she could help with this -- I'd have bought her a set of earplugs, even -- but I've seldom had much luck at contacting her at short notice, and I figured she'd be busy getting ready for JournalCon anyway. So instead I went home, wailed to my sister for a bit, and watched the vice-presidential debate (Cheney was the clear victor, although Lieberman turned in a quite acceptable performance, not that this is a contest or anything). And now I'm typing to you.
I left out a bit along the way, though. There's the professorial meeting alluded to above, for instance. This was the professor with whom I'm supposed to be doing that provocative language thing. She gave me a question to consider on that subject, having to do with the way names of body parts are used as insults. And I was intrigued, and began mulling it over for a couple of minutes, during which time the rest of my frustrations took a back seat. And I realized once again that I love this sort of thing. Considering language questions, that is. This is the sort of thing I live for, this is the sort of thing I'm in college for, this is the sort of thing I've been wanting to do... and this is the sort of thing I haven't been doing all semester long, 'cause I've been busy with the khesting scholarships. (Pardon my Klingonaase.) On the one hand, it's nice to know that I'll have that stuff waiting for me once I get done with the applications and stuff... on the other hand, it's frustrating knowing that I'm not doing it now, and that I don't know when I'm gonna get the chance, given that I haven't even started with the GRE or the American leg of the college search. And in the meantime, painting is... painting is... I don't wanna talk about it anymore.
Also on the bright side, as I was walking out of the building, I ran into another student (who wrote a really funny play, a scene of which was performed at the Writing Prizes ceremony last year), and he said he'd seen the literary journal, and he really really liked my stuff. And then, on the way home, I ran into an old friend from Israel whom I hadn't seen in years, and he bought me a soda and we talked for a few minutes. All of which ordinarily would have been really nice, and under the circumstances at least kept me from jumping off the nearest bridge or something. Anyway. I have a college in England to locate and an essay to rewrite, after which I can go to sleep, I guess, after which I can find a place where I can get six passport-sized photos and figure out a way to get a form signed in Far Rockaway and brought back to Flushing.
It could be worse. I could be a contestant on "Blind Date."
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