3 Minutes in Heaven

OMG!!!! OMG!!! OMG!!!! I have to write this all down before the sweet memory of it disappears. Today i talked to Art Boy!!!!

Now time for the back story:

My school has been having problems with elevators. If they aren't down for maintenance, someone is getting stuck in them, caught in between them, or waiting long periods of time for them.

In the Humanities Building(where all my English class are held) there is only 2 elevators for this tall 4 story building. 4 stories doesn't seem tall, but the ceilings must be high on each floor because this building is huge. Of course of the 2 elevators only 1 has been working for the past 5 weeks.

There would be lines of people waiting to crowd this small elevator, so needless to say i have been taking the stairs for a while. I also almost got crushed in between an elevator door which decided not to stop closing as i walked in. Luckily hot professor from last semester (who i ran into) pushed his handsome man hands in between the doors just before I got caught. We chuckled briefly and then rode the rest of the elevator in silence.

But the worst place for elevators is the library. We are always waiting for the damn thing to come to whatever floor we are on, and then it makes these weirds noises once we are on it. The person who constructed our library was a real asshole because he built it underground. It's a 6 story building, going from the Main floor all the way down to the 1st floor. It's kind of creepy because there aren't any windows (unless you want a view of dirt), and our only way out is by the elevator or the stairs.

It's no fun having to drag a cart full of books into old elevators and it also isn't cool being stuck in them with more than 5 people. Lately i have been getting the elevator riders who can't seem to hold their body gas, and in a small space the smell is always suffocating.

It's like a hit and run accident, the two of us stand there and then a strong pungent smell hits my noise, i know i didn't do it so i look to the person who is know avoiding my gaze, who laid the funky smell. Of course i am usually the last one out of the elevator so i get the full force of funk. It's pretty disgusting

After a day of elevator trouble and farting riders, i was not looking forward to having to go to the fourth floor and shelve more books. As i headed to the elevator i turned on my Ipod, swung the cart around, and ran smack into Art Boy. This is no exaggeration, I came within inches of running over his toes. He was looking amazing in just a t-shirt, jeans, and a goofy red hat. I almost fainted.

I know, i know...i gave up on Art Boy a long time ago, but i still like his face, and i still get the weird butterfly feelings when i see him. And in that moment where my cart almost ran over him, and i looked up in sorrow and embarrassment, my heart started racing like a school girl. After regaining my composure, i pressed the up button for the elevator (which of all days decided to work) and we headed in.

I some how managed to ask him to press button 4 for me and then stood there awkwardly next to art boy as a miliion thoughts were running through my head:

Jesus mother fucking Saint Paul. ART BOY. Okay act natural, NATURAL. Maybe i should cross my feet and lean against the cart. Shit that isn't natural. I hope i smell good, this elevator is so small...Cucumber Melon is a good smell, and i wahsed with a lot of that stuff this morning. everybody smells like cucumber melon, damn i need a new smell. Where is my Cover Girl lip gloss. It makes my lips so shiny, and i need it right now.

While i was in my own head, i didn't notice that Art Boy was staring in my direction. I assumed I had a cowlick or something, so i brushed my hair with my hands.

Art Boy: Hey you were in the Film club Right?

Me: [Holy Sh--] Oh yeah i was in that club for a while. Whatever happend to it?

Art Boy: [looks down pretty embarassed] I got really busy and i just couldn't get the meetings together...Sorry about that

Me: Not that's alright, it was a fun club while it lasted

Of course the now functioning elevator choose not to get stuck today, or cause any problems that would prolong this moment where me and ART Boy are finally having a conversation. Of course he isn't proclaiming his love or making out with me...but he remembers ME. ME. ME. ME. And he is choosing to take this moment to talk to me.

As soon as i utter the last words the elevator doors open, and without hesistation i (for the first time) am the first one to get off. As soon as i get off the elevator i run to the bathroom and do the happy dance. God, how old i am?

I know it was the shortest conversation in the whole entire world (due to the mother f*cking elevator) but i talked to him. I TALKED TO ART BOY. And i didn't stumble for words, i made eye contact, and i FLIPPING TALKED TO ART BOY!!!!

This has not renewed my crush on Art Boy, but...i don't know. It makes me want to go out there and start talking to people, and not be so afraid. And it makes me want to kind of make out with art boy too, but that's beside that point.

His face made my day. Time to get a cookie.

Sighting!!!

ART BOY!!!!!!

more after this break...again

Cruiser

Short boy got solicited by a "cruiser" in the men's bathroom at work.

At first being the sexually naive person that i am i thought he was talking about a car.

I mean cruisers are cars aren't they, except i don't think you can fit a cruiser in the bathroom.

After short boy and my boss gave me the look like "not that kind of cruiser sweetheart", the light bulb clicked on.

Apparently while doing his business in the bathroom, a "nice" "helpful" hand reached over, under...i don't know, to help him "finish".

Not only did short boy come in the office mortified but he has the whole library staff talking about the incident.

I must say i feel a little bad for short boy, but as soon as i left the office i died a little from laughter.

More to come after this subway break.

Fortress Around My Heart

My therapist says that when i start revealing things about myself I have a tendency to bail/jump ship/head in the opposing direction before people get too get close to the real me. The sort of insecure, vulnerable, i despeartely need a hug ME

It's out of fear i guess.

I must admit i am still in a shittastic mood, and almost shut down completely deciding to retreat into a shell for a couple of weeks, and sort my head out. But then i remembered that i do that a lot when things become to personal...i just flee. And what good has that done me in the past.

I always sort of admired those bloggers who put there whole lives on a blog. From pictures of themselves frolicking ( i like that word) around with friends and family and give the location of where they live and what school they go too, because they are utterly open with that sort of thing.

The reason i don't do that is because i'm not ready to give all of myself to people, I like a little mystery...it's my thing.

And that's pretty much how i am in my real life. The people around me get the physical stuff...the coy smile, the brown eyes, and the bed head...but only because they don't get the other stuff. The blog stuff.

I sort of keep these two worlds separate, the physical and the emotional, and once again it's just about safety. Well my safety, if i keep people distant enough...it won't hurt so bad when then have to leave.

I guess that's why the whole personal narrative disaster has put me in such a funk. It was the first time these two worlds have collided, and it was criticized, critiqued, and put out there for the eyes of my peers and professor McDouchebag.

I feel so raw, like i have an open wound and no band-aid to cover it.

But after some TLC from Justin Timberlake and Sting (music gets me out of shitty days) i refuse to continue to feel bad, or at least i am working on it.

I have not looked at my personal essay since he gave it back to me on Wednesday (still a little traumatizing) but in two weeks we have to have a one on one with him and i plan on asking "why they fuck did you totally trash my piece" but in a nicer way.

I'm so over this class and him it's not even funny.

In other totally unrelated news one of my professors wants us to try some sort of social experiment. Like the movie "Super-Size Me". We got to decide what we wanted to do, and have to do it for at least two weeks.

I was trying to rack my brain over it, I'm definitely not eating McDonald's for 2 weeks straight, I'm a poor college student so living off a set amount of money a day would not work, and i don't do diets.

I have however heard over and over again how little school spirit i have. I'm not really a participator of things especially school related. Only about 40% has to do with anxiety, the rest has to do with me not giving a shit. So my social experiment is giving a shit about the things held around campus. ASSIMILATION.

Of course i got this not so brillant but relatively easy to accomplish idea from...DEAD LIKE ME.

Georgia Lass: "I’ve never belong to a club I mean I get them, I just don’t want to be in them. Like book clubs “hey check out how smart we are, we can read”. Shut up already. And bicycle clubs. What’s that about. One guy in a bad outfit: You’re a tool Four guys in the same goofy outfit and suddenly you're the shit. Give me a break. My parent’s always told me to join some club at school, any club at all, just pick a card. But I didn’t, and then a club finally picked me(reaping). I don’t think this is what my family had in mind.”

God i love George, plus she has my pout perfected...it's creepy.

Anyway, I'm basically going to squeeze my way into every thing around campus, snagging freebies along the way.

I'm kind of looking forward to it. Most of the events held around campus are free, and they give stuff away.

So I'm buying my first ever college t-shirt, strapping on my enthusiasm, and yelling "GO _____!!!" , as i make my way into every free concert, comedy club, and save Dafur lectures around campus.

I'm really good at faking enthusiasm.

Not B.S-ing It.

You ever get that feeling like you just want to crawl up in a desolate place and hide...well that's exactly how i feel today.

I can't even b.s. happiness... not even on my own blog.

I feel like S*it. My head hurts, my throat hurts, and i want nothing more than to sleep.

Did i mention that i bawled like a baby today.

Along with the cold-like symptoms , i had to face feedback on my personal essay from my professor ( i don't even want to call him Mr. McSleepy/ McDreamy/McNothing...i dislike him so much)

He tore my anxiety paper up like a f*cking madman.

"my langauge is too romantic"

"talk more about what anxiety looks like not what it feels like"

"you're writing is too abstract"

Along with these critiques he littered my paper with scribble scrabbles , like some child drawing on important papers.

I don't think i should have written about anxiety. My problems with anxiety is that i fear being exposed, all the vulnerability and insecurity out there for everyone to see.

And i realize now after turning in my paper, that's exactly what i did.

I couldn't contain the tears today, feeling emotionally drained after writing the stupid paper, and then devastated by his comments.

I don't know what to do, there isn't a hole big enough for me to hide in this time.

Therapy!!!

My first day of therapy with a dude....A lot to say...a whole lot to say.


My spidey senses say that my guy therapist may like dudes just as much as i do. Which is actually quite relieving.

More after i finish a poem about apples.

I hate this poetry assignment.

Back in Your Head...

So i am finally sort of finished with my personal essay.

four days, little sleep, and a buttload of coffee...and i think i have got something here.

On Friday me and "The Writer" went over each others introduction. Still hella nervous about having:

a) him critique my paper
b) me having to say his paper confused the hell out of me without being rude

i wasn't looking forward to class. How do you tell someone who thinks they are a God that his paper did nothing for you. So i decided along with critiquing his paper i would incorporate more suggestion on how to make it better than focusing on what was wrong with it. I figured if i at least got on his good side, he wouldn't take what i had to say so offensively.

And i think it may have worked, i put anxiety for a moment behind me and tried to be friendly, nice and funny....and then i critiqued the hell out of his paper. We surprisingly got along well, and he even like my essay. He said he has never had the intense form of anxiety i described in my paper, and it was interesting to read. I felt bad because i didn't really have anything good to say about his paper, so i got him talking about his writing process, which he spent the remainder of the class doing.

Mr.McSleepy spent two days reading our papers, and supplied comments to help us with the remainder of the paper that we have to turn in on Monday. I was looking forward to what he would write on "The Writers" paper because his comments would help me decide once and for all if he was a complete imbecile. I figured if he wrote that "the writers" personal narrative was good, i would have to punch him in that cute face.

I mean that paper sucked big time, and i couldn't be the only one thinking it. Towards the end of class Mr. McSleepy handed back our papers. "The Writer" got his back first, and there were scribbles all over the thing. Trying not to pry but being a sort of curious i leaned over to check out some of the comments...and thank god Mr. McSleepy didn't hold back on his critiques.

He go as far in saying that it sucked...but it was damn close. He's gaining back a little respect from me.

As he came around to me, finally remembering my name, he handed back my paper which only had one comment..."Well-Told"

First step: impressing him with my paper, Second Step: Marriage or Love Affair.

In all honesty this has been one of the harder papers i have had to write( and why i have spent the last few entries writing about it. I'm sorry i know...I will get to my normal ranting and ravings soon). I don't know why it is easier to write about anxiety on my blog than for a grade. My paper is no way in the stages of being completely done but i feel like i have gotten the bare essentials down.

Tomorrow after turning in my anxiety paper, i have to go to Therapy. I am freaked out. I really liked Casey and had no intention of getting a new therapist. But i don't really have a choice, seeing that she isn't there anymore. My new therapist is some guy named Toby and i am still trying to deal with the "he's a guy" thing.

I don't particularly feel as anxious anymore...but there are bouts of sadness that have come and gone in the past couple of weeks. I realized that i must be the most insecure girl in the whole entire world, and i don't know how to get over it.

I have built a wall so high, so no one can see how much i want to be wanted, that i don't know how to tear it down. But I'm realizing what all the connections i hope to make, i have to stop being so self-conscious. But that is easier said than done.

On Thursday i got good reviews about this poem i wrote. My group seemed to generally like it, and said i had natural talent. This should have made me happy, should have taking all the doubts away, but instead i felt...down. Because everyone else seems to see the thing i can barely see in myself, and i don't why i am so hard on myself. I don't why. Insecurity is killing me. Absolutely.

This is probably why talking to a dude will be a little difficult. How am i suppose to talk about vulnerability and insecurity with a man...who i feel the most insecure and vulnerable in front of.

We'll see tomorrow how it goes.

Hemingway...Not so Much.

There is a kid in my Creative Nonfiction class who thinks he is literary God. For 50 minutes every Monday, Wednesday and Friday i not only get to watch a very hot teacher bore the snot out of me but i also get to listen to the guy behind me talk about how he is like "the best writer ever"

Because of my professors inability to generate class discussion there are only a few people who talk in our very small class. I guess a part of a professors job is to make us think about things so we can respond to them accordingly. Unfortunately Mr. McDreamy(who is soon going to be demoted to Mr. McSleepy) has not done this the past 3 weeks we have been in school.

My crush for him is slowly fading. I'm beginning not to respect him. The other day i asked him a question after class, hoping he would help me out of the writers block of Creative Nonfiction genre. Instead he gave me some quasi generic response, pointing me to some essay's from the book i should follow as the model for my personal narrative. After looking at him like he was a flipping idiot i said "thank you", headed out the classroom and decided i would write my personal narrative any which way i wanted too, despite his suggestion that i follow a model.

He has already picked out his favorites, which i can tell by the way he remembers their names but passes over the rest of us as if we aren't even there. The kid who sits behind me is one of his favorites, mainly because he talks so much in class. He goes on and on and on about who knows what as Mr. McSleepy nods in front of the class agreeing with this douche bag.

Apparently this kid has been writing since he was in the womb and he uses every opportunity to boast about it. "I'm a great writer" "My writing process is a complex one" "I create my characters like a wielder" "my characters are so authentic you would swear they were real". I swear he has said all of this.

So when Mr. McSleepy started talking about workshoping our narratives i was hoping beyond hope that i was not in a group with "The Writer". His ego is so big, he is going to be the worst critic and especially since i am writing about anxiety i don't need someone to tear my paper into pieces.

But once again Mr. McSleepy did not assign us groups and instead just paired us up with however we were sitting next to. So now i am stuck in a group with "The Writer" who thinks he is gods gift to the literary world. Which on all accounts he could be, i mean grant it I've never (until the other day that was) read anything that he has written, and why you boast about a talent if you didn't really have it.

So on Wednesday we exchanged the openings (1-2 pages) of our narratives, so we could take it home, read it, and be able to provide feedback on Friday. I was anxious exchanging my paper because the content is personal to me, but i liked my opening (and i also want to prove to Mr.McSleepy that my writing style will work for personal narratives) so i wasn't that worried.

As soon as i read the first line of "The Writers" work... i was a little appalled. Not only is it bad, but it makes no sense. The whole paper is about how as a "writer" he can't write personal narratives. He spends a whole paragraph alone talking about how great of a fiction writer he is, comparing to himself to some kind of god. It's sucks, and i have to critique without being rude but honest. Hardest thing i have had to do.

I'm dreading tomorrow.

In other totally unrelated news...

The semester is not going as bad as i thought. After a few stumbles and falls I am falling back into the grove. I'm even being social during class, so much that i was asked to be study partners with someone from my Environmental Lit Class. It was weird the only person i have ever studied with outside of class was Mike, and we usually ended up at Subway talking about Heroes.

I haven't had a girl friend since Katherine and we all know how that turned out. The girl i studied with is nice though and i can sense potential friends on the horizon.

It's weird i spend so much time not being myself in public because i think people won't like me. But then when i am myself and allow people in they totally dig me.

I just have to stop being so self conscious, it makes meeting people a little easier.

Book of the Month: The Atonement

Movie of the Month: The Atonement

New Love of the Month: James McAvoy (from the Atonement). My favorite Scot of all time, and he has the most amazing eyes ever. If only he wasn't married.

Why is this so Hard.

On this blog i feel confidant talking about anxiety.

It's much easier talking about personal things knowing i won't bump into any of the people reading this blog in a coffee shop(though i would like to one day).

The truth is being behind the veil of the Internet allows me to write freely about my thoughts, because in my real life...well i am a little more reserved.

This is the only place i feel open enough to talk about the things bothering me in my everyday world. It's like a safety place where i can get whatever is in my head into sometimes intelligible words.

Sometimes i am surprised by how candid i have been (and of course will contine to be) about my struggles with anxiety. Being able to write it down makes it easier to cope with it, and the amount of feedback i have gotten in the past 2 or so years (has it really been that long) has helped me immensley in not feeling so shitty about life.

However this noncreative fiction class with Mr. McDreamy is proving a little more difficult then i thought...which is surprising because the class is about writing personal narratives, something i am good at. I assumed I had that in the bag since technically it is what i have been doing on this blog.

On wednesday we are suppose to turn in the introductions of our personal essays. With the suggestion from Kbryna i decided that my personal essay is going to be about my struggles with anxiety as a college student.

Mr. McDreamy has made us read several personal narratives since school started and most of them seemed to be about the same thing; Cancer, other terminal illnesses, life changing journeys, investigative reports...things like that.

Some of the kids in my class have already discussed what they are going to write about: Pregnancy, a camping trip, and yadda.

Unfortunately i have been unable in the last few days to put down anything about anxiety into words. I must admit i feel a litte anxious (go figure) about articulating how it has felt these past couple of years with my social anxiety. I feel a little self conscious also about revealing aspects of myself to my professor and peers.

I admit i am guarded to a fault and it has unfortunately prevented me from getting close to people in the past. My therapist always said she couldn't imagine me being an anxious person outside of our sessions. And she was right, i mean in there (just like on this blog) i was candid and open and...Me.

But it was because i knew in the saftey of her office i wasn't going to be judge. The fear of judgement paralysing me, i hate have to defend myslef and in the past i felt like i had to do that alot.

What i have learned in the past year is that a part of getting close to people or resolving issues is putting myself out there. It's about not having my guard up so much and just being who i am.

I guess this paper has been so hard because it's much easier talking about a camping trip gone wrong then facing and revealing the problems that plague you. But I think writing this paper will do some good and putting it out there for my peers and professor will help me more than i'll ever realize.

Time to get started and to get past the wall that is preventing me from finishing this thing.

Damn Anxiety.

Getting Miffed

MR. Mcdreamy totally got pissed today when two people were caught passing notes during class.

I myself was doodling on my notebook when out of the blue the normally soft voiced Mcdreamy cleared his throat and called out two students.

His mouth tightened, his eye focused on the girl and boy, and very politely he told them how rude it was to pass notes during a lecture. This is the first time emotion has ever come across his face and i was captivated.

After a small pause and an eye roll (haven't seen that move in a while) he went on with the lecture.

When class ended he called down the two students and asked them to stay after for a few minutes. Even though i had a question to ask him, i thought i leave him alone to deal with note passing people.

But i did shoot him a smile before heading out the door....his hottness meter just went up in my book.

I almost offered to bear his children but i thought that would be too much in one day for him. He still is boring as hell but the man showed some balls today.

God i think i am in love or at least midly attracted to McDreamy as long as he doesn't talk or try to carry a conversation with me. He may just put me to sleep.

Career Day

I'm beginning to like poetry...well writing it anyway. They are much shorter than stories and I can basically write whatever i want. It's pretty awesome. I guess my problem with poetry is that it is so subjective. You can read a line a billion different ways and see it from different angles. Unless you have some sense of who the author is then trying to make sense of words he or she put together can be hard.

Luckily working in poetry groups (assigned by the professor and who we have to work with the whole detour down poetry road) means the author (us) can explain what we were attempting to get at.

Mr. Teddy Bear assigns a theme for each poem we have to write. Tuesday we had to write about a tradition, today we had to write about a profession. Something that interests us enough to compose a poem. At first i was going to write about about a doctor. I mean it was my life for the last 20 or years so i figured I'd take a stab at it. After a while of drumming out ideas it just got all cliche and i ditched it.

What did I ditch it for...Prostitution. Hey everyone needs a voice and though i have no interest in selling or being sold for sexual favors i was compelled by a history lecture to write about the profession of Prostitution.

In the 11th grade i was taking a history of... something. We dealt with Empires and the age of Rulers and Tyrants. I remember one lesson vividly because i ended up basing a short story on what i learned. My teacher was going over the Mesopotamia Empire. From what i remember this Empire was like the Gotham City of the Ancient World. It was pretty well developed, rich, powerful, and ruled by Kings. Did i mention it was also big on prostitution. Having a very conservative History teacher at the time i didn't figure she would continue to talk about the prostitution aspect of this Empire. But she did

Apparently the women used to sit on the steps of these large palaces that held the most powerful men of the time, and wait until one of them walk down these stairs, tapped them on the shoulder, and well...we know what happens after that.

For a 17 year old i wasn't so appalled by this...i actual thought it was kind of romantic. I mean i was looking past the whole sexual thing but more on the slight brush against the shoulder by some powerful figure who wanted to spend the night with you.

It's probably the only thing i remember from the whole class and inspired me later to write a short story based on that scene alone. So after ditching the doctor angle i thought...hey i could about a prostitute except i would have to ignore the professors suggestion to "describe what they do at this job"

Surprisingly the poem came to me pretty quick in the corner of the library i was hiding in. The only quasi -sexual reference i made was :

"Whispering unto her neck

The promises of riches

From the mouths of prosperous men"

I figured it had "she may be a hooker" written all over it but without being overtly sexual. I signed my name next to the last line of the poem,:

"As long as she received the many

Kisses from the darkness of the Night"

And was ready for the critiques to come. My group is pretty awesome. There's this older dude who was in the army, some kid who plays in a band, and a girl who hasn't really participated much and wasn't there today...so i guess 2 of my group members are really great. We help each other a lot in trying to come up with ideas and are critiques are helpful. The dude in a band really likes to write you can tell because he kept saying "i really like to write". He was super excited about his poem about a sculptor and we could tell because before we started critiquing he exclaimed "i really like this poem that i wrote" *wink wink*.

Once you say something like that how the hell do you critique someones poem who obviously loved what he wrote. it's like giving the reader a "you better say something nice about my poem" precursor. Nonetheless we both gave him great remarks but more on him being proud of the poem rather than our reaction to it.

Next we critiqued my poem and apparently my tongue in cheek approach flew past my group members. It wasn't until i said "I know prostitution was a weird profession to write about" did the light bulbs go off in there heads. The band guy thought i was writing about someone on a boat.????

Apparently the "Whispering, Embracing, Brushing" was not a clear ringer for a prostitute.

After having to point out the sexual references to convince them that she was a prostitute (which was embarrassing enough) i had to explain the Mesopotamia Empire, and how sexually involved they were.

I think i will stay away from writing about hookers in the poems to come, i can't bear having to explain sexual activities to people and i don't want anyone getting the wrong idea.

Time to study.

Mr. McDreamy

It's been a long couple days and I think i have finally gotten caught up...on sleep that is.

I have finally settled into my new dorm and things are going well here. Sometimes it is loud in the hallway but by 11pm it's quiet enough that it isn't really a problem. Plus i have the most amazing fan in the whole world which blocks out a majority if not all the noise in my new digs.

Being so near everything is also a major plus, i don't have to get up really early to run to class even though i still manage to to run a little late. Plus i live write across the street from a coffee shop...what more could a girl ask for.

Surprisingly my ex-roommates were pretty miffed that i didn't tell them i was moving. The day of the move i received a email from 2 of my ex-roommates asking what the hell had happened: Did they do anything wrong? Why didn't i tell them i was moving? Yadda yadda yadda.

Seeing that i was only there a week i didn't think they would care that i moved. I didn't make an expression on them...I stayed in my room, remained out of sight, and only spoke to them a couple of times. Either way they didn't take the move as well as i was expected and i had some explaining to do.

Without being totally rude i just explained that Elliot Hall was a dorm i had my eye on for a while and when i found out there was a room available i took it. Short and Sweet. I don't know if they bought it but whatever i'm out of the place with my sanity intact and that's all that matters.

After the BIG MOVE i have basically been running around campus trying to sort things out. I hate coming back to school because the first few weeks are always the hardest. I've dropped some classes, added some classes, re-dropped some classes, had to then go to the dean to get re-added in a class. I was simply exhausted after Wednesday and spent the majority of labor day weekend curled up in my blanket watching various marathons. It was heaven

One of the reasons for the adding/dropping class fiasco is because ever since i changed my major i've had to make sure that i fulfill all the requirements so i can graduate in may/summer.

Unfortunately because i changed my major so late i have to take a buttload of classes i never intended to take and there is no way that i can take all those classes before may. So last week i was attempting to rearrange my schedule like crazy.The thought of taking 2 writing classes along with my 3 English classes freaked me out a bit, so i was going to drop one(of the writing classes) but at the last minute changed my mind. Then i moved on Wednesday so i forgot all about dropping something other than my 2 writing classes ( i really wanted to drop this film class i am taking) and figured i would just re-adjust my schedule on Thursday. Unfortunately Wednesday was the last day we could add/drop a class...so now i am stuck. It's a little frustrating and overwhelming but at this point there is nothing i can do about it.

The two writing classes are vastly different. One is creative writing(short stories and poetry) class with this huge macho ex-football player teacher who i suspect is a big teddy bear. His name is Mr. Wright and he made this extremely lame joke about his wife marrying Mr. Right. No one laughed but the fact that he could be that intimidating physically and make such a stinker of a joke makes him alright in my book. Unfortunately the first 6 weeks of this class is devoted to writing poetry, i barely can read the stuff without wanting to jump out of the nearest window so having to write it is daunting.

Today we had our first workshop where we had to write a poem about a tradition that our family does. Luckily i had the whole weekend to work on this thing and it came out pretty good. My group really like my first attempt at a poem ( it was about running in the rain) and i felt damn good about it ...though i am still dreading the other 10 poems i have to write before the semester is over.

The other writing class is with Mr. McDreamy. This man is the most gorgeous non celebrity i have seen in my whole entire college career. He has that sensitive artist thing going on and it's driving me insane. I mean it isn't a conventional hottness but kind of disheveled "i listen to DMB all through college" sort of thing. But you can't help but appreciate his face. It's amazing.

Unfortunately he is the most boring teacher i have had in my whole entire life. The hot face can only get him so far. He has no idea how to teach, i mean he stands up there, makes references to books i've never read and looks at his watch hoping that the 50 minutes is up. It's literally like watching a comedian bomb on stage, and i'm just waiting for his set to end so i can go.

I think he's a little nervous. I was kind of hoping he would command the classroom like my extremely hott teacher from last semester (who recently saved me from a psycho elevator: details later) but so far he is falling a little short. A lot short. I think i may have fell asleep in class the other day and a snore erupted from my noise. It's that bad.

Time to sleep, i have a crap load of things to do before Thursday and i've started none of them. Procrastination at best.