55 Fiction - 'Picky'

There’re flowers on his shirt,
one above each pocket.
He looks like a cowboy,
and he plays the guitar.
His motorcycle is out back,
and he calls it his horse.
His boots are old and dusty,
and his jeans are all dirty.

And I want to play with his moustache.

…until I hear his laugh.

55

Sad School Haze

Well, I never did get high on 4/20.

It's probably the first 4/20 in many a year that I haven't.

I miss it, sometimes. But, I just think that while I'm still committing myself to school, I should probably refrain.

Though, this semester is coming to an end.

I think that only really hit me just today.

I mean, I've known all along that the end of the semester was on May the 8th--which is my brother's birthday, so it's an easy date to remember--but only just today has it really dawned on me that after Thursday, I no longer have classes.

Which means that after Thursday, I HAVE TO FIND A JOB.

Because, I decided not to go to summer school.

Not doing summer school means that I can work and make money so that I can afford to go to school again fall semester.

I have two finals. One in English and one in Math. They are both on Wednesday. I am not all that worried about them. In math I will surely get an A. In English, I still have never figured out that Professor and I will surely get a B in that class most likely. If my final research paper is a C, (we haven't gotten them back yet,) then I may even get a C in that class. I don't really care anymore, cos I hated that class. I despise academic writing with a passion and it has no place in my life and never will. For some folks it is the be all/end all of their existence, like my Professor....for me...there exists not a single way in which I would possibly care less about the genre. But, I tried to do well in that class. She never once told us what it is she is looking for. She never once told us what it was about our papers that got us an A over a C. Her comments are redundant and when we get our papers back all of us ask each other 'What does this mean?' and point to a comment on our paper and no one seems to know what it means, but all of our papers say it. But, she does not go over this material in class. Instead she goes over literature texts and we all sit there and talk about how it made us feel in our common and colloquial language, but she never tells us this is how you make your B paper a C in my class. No, she doesn't do that. Instead she spent the whole last class telling us to take her class next semester because they are going to go over the poem 'Ode to Senor Dildo' and the other half of the class passing around her book that was her doctoral thesis. I own a lot of dildos and I use them on a daily basis. I do not deny that this woman is highly intelligent. What I would have liked to have gotten out of her class is a very distinct explanation from her as to how to go about getting an A in her class and perhaps some very specific lessons in class about how she would like us to be writing. Maybe some more in-class writing exercises in which she goes around the class and helps guide us to write in a manner in which she expects us to write in order to get the grade in which we desire. I have not missed any of these types of things because I am in class every day and I am never late and I do all of the readings and I never leave class while it is in session. So, that is not the reason I have not experienced this kind of teaching with her. One cannot learn through osmosis. He knowledge will not merely soak into my being simply by attending class. No. Nor do I possess the ability to read her mind and be able to grasp what it is she is looking for. No, that has not happened either. Instead I have sat in that class day in and day out listening to the people in my class shoot the shit. That is what I have done all semester long. The one girl in my class comes from a very large Latino family and has a very strict religious background and all semester I have heard stories about each of her aunts, cousins, uncles, and I have gotten to know her father really well through these stories she relays to the class as well. There is always something in the texts that seems to relate to some odd thing from her family. Then there is the heavy-set African-American woman who sits behind me, who likes to share with the class about her and her mother do not take any shit from men. Her language is only somewhat more classroom appropriate. Then there is the bisexual boy who came out in class last week. He is heterosexual now. But, when he was 15, he thought he was gay. There is another young man who often talks about how when he was on the track team last semester. There is another woman who is married and hails from Serbia and she always tells stories about how her culture differs so much from American culture. There are several other people who talk about various realms of their life in class that is somehow identifiable with the life of Frederick Douglass, the Death of a Salesman, and Angels in America. I have found each one of their stories truly fascinating. I really enjoy listening to all that my classmates have to say on Mondays and Wednesdays, when this class meets. But, not one of their stories has taught me anything in any way that will get me an A in this class. This is not how you teach a class. Now, if I was supposed to write at ten-page paper on the various types of people in my class, (including the quiet strange girl with tattoos--you know, me,) and how I have learned from that and talk about what I REALLY got out of this class and be able to get an A based upon that knowledge of the diversity of opinion in my class....well, I'd damn well write something that would blow my teacher's ass away. Unfortunately, what we have done on a daily basis in that class has nothing at all to do with our final research paper and our final grade and I feel as though she wasted our time in that class. I am there to get an A. I come to class every day. I am never late. I am always prepared. My assignments are on-time. They are a hard-copy, in her hand and not an 'I will e-mail it to you later today.' No. I don't do that. All I have wanted was to get an A in a class where she refuses to teach us HOW TO WRITE FOR HER SO THAT WE CAN GET AN A. No, we sit around talking about our families. Some of us don't really have a family and have nothing to say so we just listen and take as many notes as we can from the various things that people are talking about but NONE OF IT MATTERS. Because none of what I have done every fucking day for that class will get me an A. None of it. And it's really depressing. Because I am a good student and a good writer and I don't cause problems for the professor and I still have no clue how the fuck to get an A in her class and here it is the end of the semester and all it takes is one lousy professor to get you thinking that maybe you shouldn't be back in school. All it takes is one lousy professor to make you think that it doesn't matter that you have so many points in your math class that your professor has to throw away your extra points cos you are only allowed 25 extra credit points total. It doesn't matter is you have over a hundred percent of the points. It doesn't matter if you have the highest grade in the class. Cos you have this other class where no matter what you do, no matter how much you listen, no matter how much you try to learn and still be you, it doesn't matter.

So, what the fuck is the fucking point?

So, this summer I have a lot of thinking to do.

I know you can't have a great professor in all your classes. But, I usually can figure out the professors. I can usually figure out from the material on my own what I need to do to get an A.

But, with her it has been a heart-wrenching experience.

And it has truly fucked with everything that I need right now.

And I don't know what to do.

I am so sad.

And so depressed.

And I just want to know what I got on my research paper.

I just want to know.

But, she is on vacation.

On the beach.

She said she wasn't bringing our papers with her.

School is over for this class on Wednesday.

I gave her a shining review because I believe in Karma.

And because I don't think it matters what I think.

It only matters to me.

But, her teaching method is not one in which a true writer can learn to write.

I could write a little story about each person on my class that would be amazing.

EACH ONE.

And put it together in a little book.

And hand it in.

And it would make her smile.

That is what I want to do with what I learned from this class.

But, I can't do that.

I'm not getting what I need out of school.

And I don't know how to go about doing that when I desperately need motivation from somewhere to stick with this.

I'm so sad today.

And I'm not sure why.