Short Rant, but a True One

My teacher gets everyone else back their drafts for fine-tuning, and I'm left waiting, so I think he's accepted my draft as a final draft.  I get an email at 9:25 tonight from him, telling me that he'll give me back my draft tomorrow at the final so I can fine tune it and hand in a final paper, but after I get it I still have to have it in the same day.  Sure, he probably had legitimate excuses, at least I can't refute the ones he gave me, but if I were to give the same excuses I'd just fail the class.  I think that the rules that apply to students should also apply to teachers.  I think that's first class jerkiness, to give everyone else help before the due date, and make me work doubly hard just to get my essay in on time because he didn't feel like editing it until it was too late to give it back to me.  And, now I know that I am going to have troubles with my final, because it was based on a draft, not my final paper.  Yup.  Fuming right now.  Don't get in my way.  I'm on a rampage.

When I Get Really Bored

English 295 note paper (on which is written notes for a creative writing story).  Yes, this is a cat on the sidewalk in front of a house.

My teacher probably gets mad, because he can see what I'm doing.

Here We Go

Ugh.  Today hasn't been so great.  Not that it has been bad in the sense that my life is going to fall apart, but it is one of those days when you realize that some work you thought was decent is completely inadequate, and it is too late to change it, so you're just going to have to suffer through it.  My teacher for my Advanced Writing class completely rips apart our papers, which is good, because then I can try to fix my writing, but it is also bad because I am going to get a grade in that class which will lower my GPA.  I can feel it in my bones.  You know that feeling?  Where you know nothing you will ever do will be good enough to receive even a B+?  

My teacher for the class that I'm talking about told the class that he knew a guy that was a terrible writer, but could teach everyone else to write well.  I feel like that is me.  I know what makes up good writing.  I just can't do it.  My writing is a mess, and I know it.  And I know it is a mess because I really don't care enough to spend double digit hour time on each draft, especially when the paper isn't a final paper.

For the past few weeks, I've seriously thought about switching majors.  I'm good at linguistics, at least so far.  I've only ever been mediocre at English, especially because it requires a lot of writing.  Maybe I could do a linguistics major with an editing minor?  Or should I switch my major to a foreign language?  I also like science, but not enough to retake my calculus class or risk not understanding the mathematical part of the science.  There's definitely benefits to having an English major if I want to be an editor.  If I switch majors, that means more time in college.  More time that BYU doesn't allow.  There's a year limit for BYU students to graduate.  Another ugh.  

There's a guy in my 295 class, Dillon, that is also in my linguistics class, and he's also having a hard time with this 295 English teacher (Dillon's a senior, and so I don't feel like I'm unjustified in feeling this way about my teacher, if a guy that's never had a problem with his English teachers on this level, I can feel that way).  We both think our english teacher is good guy, but that he's a little too set in his ways.  I mean, come on, when a guy comes out and says he's never given an A to a student in 16 years, he's got to be a little too set in his ways.

So I guess what I'm getting at is that instead of going on to do homework this afternoon, I think I'm going to go mail my letter to Savannah Combe, go for a walk, and lay out in the sun (or on my bed, whichever sounds nicer when I get back) and spend the day reading a book I checked out from the library.  Oh, and I'll probably grab something yummy to eat as well.

The end.

The Power of Words

Math, I really feel that if I do it for long enough my brain will melt.  I feel like I understand it, and then I go back to review, and I find I've well nigh forgotten it all.  It isn't that I cannot do it; quite the contrary, I am particularly good at it when the concepts are explained properly.  My problem seems to be that I cannot retain the knowledge.  If formulas and rules were given me to utilize during a test, I am sure that my performance would be much improved upon.

After much consideration on the matter, I've decided that even though I am capable of doing math, it really is one of my weaker areas of performance.  Once I have finished with my current math class, I have every intention of never taking another one. For once in my life, I am very happy to have chosen a profession in which so little mathematical skills will be required.  I much prefer to employ my time with reading and helping others improve upon their writing.  A beautifully written passage is, to me, as moving as observing a blissfully happy newlywed couple.  The ability to bring one to tears of pain, joy, or laughter through words is one that should not be undervalued.

There is a reason why certain songs stay on the top songs list forever.  Songs that only have a catchy beat may stay on top for awhile, but are soon forgotten if the lyrics have no meaning behind them.  Lyrics are poetry, the butter to the bread of music.  True connoisseurs of literature know that in order for any song to stick, there must be meaning behind it.  This is true of classical music as well.  Pieces of music constructed with a beautifully depicted idea behind them are the ones that stick with us the longest.  The beauty of the Planets depicted by music make one muse upon the words that can properly describe them.  When one says that a piece of music is moving, there are indescribable feelings behind the word moving that they cannot express.  Writers do this.  To have the talent of expressing oneself eloquently is a gift given to many, but utilized by few.

Everything starts with words, and our words are all that remain of us when we're gone, so make the most of them.

I Promise I'm Not Drunk

And this was EPIC............................................................................................... FAIL.  The words blip blop on the blog or the page or the scrap and people stare.  They know you're completely odd: THERE IS NO TURNING BACK.  Then there's white stuff on the ground that's fallen out of the sky, and you wonder, "Is it snow or bloody ash?"

It makes no sense, and there's no point to how the thing is spaced.


                              IT JUST IS.


When you wake up from a dream where you're marrying someone you know, like, but really don't love, and it's just awkward, because the last thing you see is the guy you love looking at you like, "What the *(&#@&$^(@) are you doing?"

Really, IT thinks that IT is going to write a book someday, and it'll be all good,
                                           when the thing at the end of the parallel universe* looks at the product, and says, "This is now the law of the universe across and down three universes from us."

Which, in all, has fallen in love with the nonsense that makes up the universe, and jumps through the loops that create reality that people call sense.  And yes, that makes sense... to me.

WHEN YOU KNOW THAT DEATH THINKS IN ALL CAPS, AND IS CAPABLE OF IT. ASK TERRY PRATCHETT.

Bounce it, because we stand on an earth that spins into a vast nothingness, and tell me that I can't think like this and understand myself, because I can.  

Overly much, this is why my english teachers hate me.

I should remember not to write my way in most classes,

because it takes a very special person to appreciate

THIS AWESOMENESS.

Like Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams.

*Which we all know is just rubbish.  The thing at the end of the universe sits on a rock that tumbles through nothingness and enjoys floppy fish.

Elementary Assignments

So, my posts are usually longer than this, but that doesn't mean I can't vary my length of post every now and then. I was helping my 12 year old cousin Bailey with her english homework. Kids have a tougher curriculum in elementary now, I'm telling you! She already has to know a bunch of latin roots and then all of the adding and dropping suffixes to make things nouns. I don't even think I knew the word authentic could become a noun until I remembered the word authentication; and by remembered I mean that I looked it up on the internet. The assignments were ridiculously time consuming. That could be just because I wasn't the one writing, but whatever.

Kids nowadays also have ridiculous math book setups. The format of my cousin's math book was really ridiculous. It took me forever to find the properties they were asking us to use to identify certain problems. Also, I feel that the math is somewhat easier when it came to story problems, but harder when it came to just the numbers. I hated story problems in school, but the ones she had were really easy. I guess that is because I moved up through a bunch of math classes, but personally, I believe that the story problems were harder in the math book I had in sixth grade.

Deb Moss Intro

Deb Deb Deb

Splat!  Such is my fear if I were to jump out of an airplane when it is on the ground.  There is no such fear in Debbie’s mind as she goes to jump out of one at an immense height.  The warm summer air splashes her face and sends her hair in an exotic, electrocuted position as she makes her jump.  Reaching the elevation which requires the deployment of a parachute, Deb and her friend Jen follow instructions and release their parachutes.  Debbie is enveloped by her parachute and she begins to fall to her death, but an unexplainable phenomenon (unless you are familiar with the abstract) stops the terrible situation.

Everything goes dark.  Being a green crayon brings a nature-like feel with it.  An odd, acute sense of smell that comes with being a crayon lets her receive a whiff of her favorite scent in the world, new books.  The box is opened by an unknown being.  Looking over, awesome green crayon sees the terrible pink crayon to the right of her and the no less abhorrent red crayon to her left.  At first she is glad to be taken out of the box away from such horrible colours, but then the reality of the situation sets in.  A little girl is going to use her to destroy a brand spanking new book! Nonetheless the book that she is currently reading: Eclipse.

Snap!  As the crayon is snapped in half Debbie’s soul leaves it and involuntarily splits in two.  The same unexplainable force creates two bodies and puts each half in either body.  Coming to consciousness at the same time, both Debbies see each other.  Now, if I saw myself next to myself, my first reaction would be somewhat vulgar, such as Holy bleepity bleep bleep bleep!  I didn’t know I had a twin!  Debbie’s reaction is, “Hey, would you be friends with me?”  Other Debbie replies, “I think so.”