Beautiful losers are leaves or snowflakes that never get caught by joyful hands By all means, I had a good day, if you look at all the events except for one through a rose filter.

I was late for my EdPsych class, and realized as soon as I got there that I had forgotten to bring the ONLY assignment he'd asked of us. It was on a pretty red disc at home, quietly waiting to fulfill it's purpose. So I begged for permission to hand it in before the end of the day. And I wrote it up in Rutherford. Enter the rose filter thing: The piece that I wrote at home on my favorite school memory was incredibly lame. The piece that came to me as I sat down in a panic, was not. I wrote about my old social studies teacher, and it turned out awesome. Slid it into his mailbox a half an hour later. Point one for the little doods.

After this little jaunt, I decided to saunter up to the RATT to see if I'd missed anything important at the meeting of le papier. No one would tell me anything about the meeting, other than, "it was the same", which is retarded, but nothing earthshaking happened other than me forgetting to talk about Joel with Boss. A lot of people published this round, so I'm thinking that no one needs my badly written crap anymore. When it comes right down to it, I do really love writing for le papier, but I don't like being forced to write stuff like that, because I'm tired of reading my stuff after the fact and having my own self realizations that it's complete garbage most of the time, because I didn't try hard enough. So I want to try hard, but unfortunately with the way my time is going, that means less articles. Anyways, I was uncomfortable at the RATT after only being there for five minutes because of no money, and the intensifying bad mood that was creeping up on me, so I didn't stay long.

And the piece de resistance:

My english class got off to a bad start. I indulged for the first time in months before I went in, which was awful, and I thought I'd get sick. And then, I remembered that I hadn't read Twelfth Night, and the rest of the class had. The lecture part was fine, not even confusing, because I knew roughly what the plot was before I walked in. However, halfway through the class and past some terrible analogies, my prof decides we're going to do groupwork. Panic! Think of a plan stan! I read the first two pages. Act one, scene one. I made one observation about love being equated to an unpleasant experience for "most of the characters", expecting that stare that harkens the "you fucking idiot" treatment, but instead, by incredible tragic fluke, the response was "what a great observation! God, that's so true throughout the whole work isn't it?" Insert my weak assent. "Hey, wouldn't it be great if the girl who only read the first two pages of the play gave the presentation on that topic?" And thus it was so. I bullshitted for a good four minutes, expecting my ruse to disintegrate into a pile of crumbling debris immediately, almost afraid to stop talking because it would be such an imminant mass stare of shock and disbelief, followed by titters and ripples of laughter.

"Well done dear," my professor said, smiling kindly.
"Oh, I totally agree too," called a guy from the back.

I was speechless. Only in the movies! But I still felt terrible about it, and avoided eye contact with my prof for the rest of the class and made a hasty exit.

Touching only briefly on my bad mood: I did something I shouldn't have done, and it blew up in my face. Initially, seeing as it was an explosion of awfulness, I was sort of shocked and hurt at the strength, sight, and boldness of the explosion, but at the same time, the fuse has been burning towards detonation for a while now, and I had totally forecasted it, if not that it would happen while I was standing at ground zero with a ticking bomb. I hate that I was right all along the most I think. Fortunately for me, it was just pie, not plastic explosive. I can't put together the pieces blown apart by a high powered PE, but I sure as hell can lick the pie off my face and still have it taste as good. Sure, now I'll never have a whole pie, but that doesn't affect my feelings for pie in terms of more long term things, like taste or digestion. Exploded pie is just as good as whole pie could have been, because it's just missing a couple of things. I hope the pie knows that. And yes, it was raspberry pie, so of course the little pieces are good. And still hot.

Oh I'm a sneaky english student...here's looking at pie. I love pie.


  ¶ 11:22 PM