Why not

So, yeah. This week has been much less saturated with literary/poetry/writing/homework than last week was because I’ve been totally burnt out on that schtuff. We didn’t have class, and I actually got my prof to meet up with me to go over my work. Praise the Freakin’ Lord Almighty—I’ve been trying to get some attention from this woman all semester and she has no office hours. She keeps our work for weeks (And weeks! I still haven’t seen four of my poems I handed in forever ago. I’m beginning to think they’ve been sacrificed to the “junk in her car” gods.) and half the time when we get it back she either hasn’t looked at it or she just writes question marks on it. Hello, writing professor: Of all people, you should know how utterly useless it is for you to write a big “?” next to a poem.

The odd thing is, other times she’s right on. She’ll give helpful, solid feedback that we can actually use to revise and turn our stuff into a shining, moving piece of art. Then … with no warning, the helpful-professor-side goes back into hiding, and she returns to the confused, overwhelmed, incoherent self. Anyway: I didn’t mean for this to turn into a bitch-about-the-prof session. She’s… complicated, and going through some stuff that leads me to believe this is more likely about something being up with her, not mere incompetence. Anyway: I got feedback, I asked questions, she answered them, I had her explain some of her (non) comments, and it was the most worthwhile hour of my whole damn semester.

Eureeka. Moving on.

I’m still having weird dreams. This week’s winner is the one where I was on some Mexican island at an outdoor Mass with my two sisters, and Kirk Cameron (total Growing Pains era) was doling out the Eucharist while smoking a cigarette… which I desperately wanted a drag of, instead of the Eucharist. Ah, yes—dissect that one, friends!