January 26th, 2009
I am dreading my writing class this week.
Last week's class was one of the most traumatizing events in my life.
Srsly it was teh suck.
Maybe I should begin by saying that on Tuesday night last week, I got drunk by myself, wallowing in ruby red grapefruit juice and cheap vodka. I woke up around 7am the next morning, which i often do after drinking too much, my body punishing me by not letting me sleep. It was right as I was trying to decide whether i should puke before trying to re-hydrate that I got a phone call from work wondering if I was planning on showing up.
Forgot about the 8 hour shift I picked up. I ran out the door without so much as a glance in the mirror, and came in to work right before my district manager got there ready to review our entire store and pick us apart. Fantastic.
A small interlude between Starbucks and class to finish my homework, and then I headed off for the worst four hour class EVAR.
Two weeks ago we paired up and interviewed each other, with the assignment to write a profile of the other person. Not a huge deal. Ashley and I sat for nearly an hour and I mentioned a bit of my heartbreak issues, which she included in her profile. We had a pretty nice \"girl\" talk. Not a huge deal either. Then, last week, it turned that we were to sit in a huge circle and read our profiles of each other out loud.
So there I sat with my twenty some odd classmates and our professor, as Ashley described her impressions of me, my life, my appearance, and what she called my "shambled love life." What she wrote was great, and most of it actually made me feel really good except for the acute embarrassment. Nearly twelve hours earlier I had staggered out the door without showering, putting on makeup, or washing my face. I was wearing tuesday's dirty outfit which included seriously unnattractive men's pants courtesy of my loving mother. And now my classmates were all staring at my still slightly hungover and very disheveled self as Ashley complimented my sense of style and trendy look.
Then the teacher decided to pick on her description of my love life using the word "shambles." He claimed it was an interpretation (bad) versus a summary (good.) So, there we were discussing the accuracy of Ashley's description of my purportedly "shambled" love life.
He asked her to read that part out loud again.
The teacher asked her things like, "Well, did (Cheri) actually *say* her love life was in a shambles?" Which, no I didn't. I spoke up and said her impression was correct, and I didn't understand how we were supposed to use adjectives to describe without crossing this line of what he called interpretation. I should have just kept my mouth shut, because the situation just got worse, turning into more of an argument, I don't even remember quite clearly because I was dying on the inside.
Then I finally blurted out that I told Ashley how I'd found the love of my life in bed naked with someone else last month. My classmates laughed awkwardly and shifted in their seats while I aired one of the single most painful things to ever happen to me. Ashley said that she felt that was too personal to include, and the professor said it would've been better to write about that. I agree with him there, good for writing. I guess I should've kept my mouth shut (noticing a theme here) when I talked to her, but for fuck's sake I didn't expect this to be read out loud and then turned in to a discussion focusing on the adjectives used to describe the most emotional part of my life.
"I know you are the professor and all, but I still think her use of the word was right."
I'm fairly certain these were my exact words.
Then he had her re-read the part about how she could "see the pain in my eyes." He wanted her to say what "pain" in someone's eyes looked like. I turned to him, tears finally spilling over, face red and scrunched up with the effort from trying not to cry and said "THIS is what pain in someone's eyes looks like!" I asked if we could just go back to talking about this other girl's pierced nipples. Which then pissed that girl off.. "OHH nuh uh girl no you di-int just sayy that." Alright.
For the last forty five minute I hung my head over my spiral notebook pretending to be THINKING VERY HARD, and wondering if my tears and snot dripping in huge blobs all over my ballpoint notes were noticable. Probably. By then the strain of holding in my sobs and trying not to wipe away the itchy streams of mucus running in rivers down my face was causing my entire body to shake. The thought of any more attention being focused my direction was unbearable, and I was blocked in by chairs and classmates, I was glued to my chair.
Oh, and i'd been taking xanax regularly for the two previous weeks until that morning when I went to take one and realized they'd fallen out of my pocket.
Did I mention I'd also started my period the day before and felt like dying anyway?
Class this week?
|Date:||January 27th, 2009 04:33 am (UTC)|| |
Life is so fucking intense sometimes. That's what I love about it.
I'm still working on that one.
holy cow, that ain't fair. that professor is whacked.
really bizarre. i know what it's like to be betrayed,
fortunately, I didn't have to find them in bed together,
just knowing about it all was bad enough.
I can't imagine what I'd do if the teacher was putting all
that out in the open. Probably walk out. Don't know.
But, you got nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed by.
Geez. I'd like to talk to the professor and drag some bit
of personal history of his out into the open. Then find
all sorts of groovy adjectives for it. That would be fun.
it was pretty bizarre, but luckily enough so that i had to find humor in it.
(your clowns made me smile, thank you)
|Date:||January 27th, 2009 11:51 pm (UTC)|| |
OMG, Cheri. That's fucking awful (both that it happened to you *and* was broadcast to the entire class).
I know this doesn't help, but <3.
i actually enjoyed reading this a lot. and holy shit lol that blows but i still smiled