Damned Lucky Fucking Idiot
I took a graduate-level history course this spring. It was fascinating and I learned a heck of a lot and expect to continue to keep up on the subject outside of my courses. However, it required a level of analytical writing which I found, ah, intimidating. Meaning, I froze like an oppossum on the highway. My professor had a talk with me a couple of weeks ago about this complete lack of papers turned in. I had no idea how to say I've no idea how to write like that. After all, I'm in college. I'm an adult. I'm half-way decently educated. I should know how to do this. frozen 'possum! Anyway, he told me he'll give me an incomplete, which is the equivalent of the car swerving around my frozen, furry 'possum body. I'm hoping that offer's still up 'cause I'm having the same damned problem with the final paper. If it isn't, I'm looking at an F.
And then there's the criticism class. I am absolutely no good at writing criticism. I can be critical, but in that stupid, shallow way. I can't write anything of organization and depth. Again with the I'm a college student and decently educated and I should be able to do this. Again with the frozen 'possum. In this case, I'm one of a bazillion students, so the prof didn't notice. Nor is he that inspired to care. He gave me an extra twenty hours to get my papers in, that's it. Which, when you look at it, is very generous. He could just grade me on my midterm and final (I completely blanked on everything during the final—I'm not expecting a very good grade on that at all) and dock my grade for the missing papers. That would result in an exceedingly sucky grade. Which I deserve for being such a fucking idiot I can't even write two critical analysis papers (one on Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, which was due after spring break and is now very late, and the other on Frances Burney's Evelina, which is due today at three and is drving me up the wall).
In all, my professors are being super-nice to me. I'm not sure why, though my history prof claims he thinks I'm very smart and deserve a smart-person's grade. I now have that sickening panic feeling in my chest which I haven't felt in years. Oh, boy, I'd better get my frickin' act in gear, so I can live up to the trust these guys are granting me.
And then there's the criticism class. I am absolutely no good at writing criticism. I can be critical, but in that stupid, shallow way. I can't write anything of organization and depth. Again with the I'm a college student and decently educated and I should be able to do this. Again with the frozen 'possum. In this case, I'm one of a bazillion students, so the prof didn't notice. Nor is he that inspired to care. He gave me an extra twenty hours to get my papers in, that's it. Which, when you look at it, is very generous. He could just grade me on my midterm and final (I completely blanked on everything during the final—I'm not expecting a very good grade on that at all) and dock my grade for the missing papers. That would result in an exceedingly sucky grade. Which I deserve for being such a fucking idiot I can't even write two critical analysis papers (one on Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, which was due after spring break and is now very late, and the other on Frances Burney's Evelina, which is due today at three and is drving me up the wall).
In all, my professors are being super-nice to me. I'm not sure why, though my history prof claims he thinks I'm very smart and deserve a smart-person's grade. I now have that sickening panic feeling in my chest which I haven't felt in years. Oh, boy, I'd better get my frickin' act in gear, so I can live up to the trust these guys are granting me.
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