community college chronicled

I’ve decided to write all through one of my classes to pass the time. It's the kind of class I've decided do as little as humanly possible and get an A. So, rather than blog every class period, I'm simply going to add to this one. fyi.

1/23/06
In my terrific boredom I have noticed in this classroom the curvature of two female bodies, considered the most unperverted description of the intimacy of two people in love (and how hard it is to portray the volume of wholesomeness in one kind of expression). I have heard everything this bland professor has said (without offering any break in his long, painfully thorough class) concerning sight and how I detect the hue of that one girl’s stomach when she persistently stretches because she too is bored and apparently very stiff. And I’ve listened inattentively to the vibration of his monosyllabic voice seemingly communicating his great interest in exactly what ‘it is’ I’m hearing due to his emanating sound waves. And I’m seated with my attention diverted, feeling as though his thick, slow sound waves are determined to interrupt to all my own extremely important thoughts and preoccupations. I’m getting up and leaving in 15 minutes.

1/30/06
“There Are Beautiful Women Everywhere”

I need to change my oil. I was late for class because parking is a nightmare. Since when did everyone move to Dayton to go to Sinclair? I learned something in class today…and some day the professor is going to stop class and ask me what I’m writing. I’ll tell him, “I’m writing about beautiful women everywhere.” But I won’t point to any, although, I do like the general demeanor of two girls here. I like there their faces and belly skin will always be a known stimulus. But it’s interesting because unless I can differentiate what I find physically attractive, most eligible women begin to look the same, particularly at the University. It’s not to say they are unattractive, but I’m also not giving it much thought. It doesn’t help sex appeal either when social mores suggest humping like rabbits. …I’ll look the other way. The probability is tragic. Here at this school if a beautiful woman is spied, she’s like a sun traversing our very dark universe. At other schools the fields are on fire because rich people are sending all their children. (It is a fact that wealth and beauty attract each other.) Their kids are lighting up and scattering in pairs over rural utopia like germinating beauty.
It seems most of the time beautiful women are nicer from a distance. They are either more alluring because I know nothing else about them, or if they get close (sitting next to me in class, a real person) they’re potentially alarming and I’m inadvertently more critical. I think we all do that…. In the event this “attractive woman” does get close because I want it and she wants it and the latent feelings of deep ‘I like you’ well up (like a million ton submarine coalescing from oceanic layers. Are you getting the imagery? I am like an ocean with a feeling inside called submarine. I don’t think submarines coalesce, but feelings do.)…then we run the whole gamut of why we’re interested and what we’ll invest. And so, trust is born, a small, baby bud.

2/1/06
I’m getting a head start on prewriting in my class, which has nothing to do with what I’m writing…because I’m doing it to distract myself. On the subject of writing, people identifying with shapes. If I say that I patiently walked behind a girl shaped like an obelisk…I’m saying she’s extremely tall, four sided, and tapers, which is not exactly what I mean. That’s the next subject, keywords. But first, the obelisk girl was more pear shaped, with long thin legs that fit like pegs under her pear bottom. This is good imagery. This description of shape is what a reader needs to picture me predictably going from class to class and getting slowed down behind three loudly chattering girls, one being pear shaped.
I think shape also relates mood. For instance, if I describe how indescribably good looking I am today, I’d suggest I’m not quite so arrogant and mention my low cut Converse, my average beige cords and only plaid shirt, and my conspicuous pea coat. The pea coat is probably the only thing worth mentioning because of its wide lapels, Tall and fitted cut, split coattail, and very tight weave. It is a navy pea coat (42L), and anyone who knows anything about such things knows “my shape” looks like a mariner in white converse. The mood I suppose is mild mannered and…swabbie. …color is obviously mood setting.
Keywords are…elemental and key, critical and also imperative. Basically without vocabulary I’m not humorous because you don’t understand me, nor am I sarcastic because I can’t communicate. All because I can’t articulate what’s inside me. Do you get it dear reader? Why not, damn it?!
I don’t understand why the gay man in my class never sits facing forward. He always looks like gravity is smashing himself into himself, like a ball…which is round and has no front to face forward. But he does have a face. I’ve seen it notice me. Last time a gay classmate hit on me I wasted no time and told him, “I write about beautiful women everywhere”. …A somewhat deflated ball that refuses to sit up straight.
I asked the girl who stretches in the front row if her husband was in the military. It’s the only thing I said to her today. I think I surprised her. It was rather out of the blue…. She said she wasn’t married. She was engaged and he was in the navy. I said, “oh”. It wasn’t that awkward, but almost. I’m extremely disarming.

3/17/06 The last week of classes.
I skipped my final exam in anatomy and physiology. I shouldn’t have done that…but I hadn’t been to class since the previous exam (six lectures). I hated lecture and think I’m smart enough to skip (if I read the book). Regardless, I missed the last exam and deserved to fail. I’ve never failed a class. I didn’t fail. I wandered aimlessly for 15 minutes trying to decide what I should do, and if I’m even responsible enough to shell out the money to register for pharmacology. (Fortunately it’s a distance learning class, so I can study however I want, and it’s about drugs.) After 10 minutes of consternation and contemplation of defenestration (all of those things), I happened upon a girl in my class in the foyer (vestibule is a good synonym for foyer) and I asked her, “Is the exam today?” Keep in mind I hadn’t been to class and my classmates may have noticed. I felt slightly self-conscious. She said, “No, it was Wednesday.” I said softly, “Oh…I haven’t been to class since the last test.” She looked at me and said, “Oh…my…goodness…” Then we didn’t say anything for two seconds. She was studying the material for our final and told me she was taking the test in a half hour in our professor’s office. I sort of sheepishly smiled and said, “She’s not going to like this,” and went looking for our dear professor. In my mind, I deserved to fail and I was going to be beggar, expecting a righteous finger to point me out the door. …I walked in her office door and she handed me the exam and said, “I was wondering when you were going to contact me.” I was dumbfounded. I took the test and got an 80. That’s because I stayed up most of the night “studying”…for the exam I didn’t know I skipped. As it happens, I had cumulative grades of three B minuses, one D, and one C in lab. (I’m not proud.) AND THEN I was given a 25 point extra credit exam over any material in all three A&P classes. I didn’t know about this exam. I scored 20 of 25 and that means (I somehow retained information from the other two A&P classes I took in 2000 and) 20 points were added to my 80 test score. I got a 100 on the final exam that I skipped. …all this means that my final class grade was 4 points short of a B, and my professor said, “You’re my lowest B. I’ll give it to you.” I was dumbfounded. This means a few things and I feel I’ve experienced grace….

On Wednesday, the day I didn’t know I was skipping my A&P final to prepare for my other final, I had a long conversation with my psyche teacher after the test. We’ve never talked. We only have impressions of each other. I told him where I am in life…because I needed to tell someone who’d comprehend…and didn’t know me. And this is more or less what he told me, “I’m convinced you have the brain to go all the way.” Wednesday was a monumental day for me. I’m going to move.

gatugala

Tonight I had a tiff with my cat. It went like this: “I see you love me and don’t want to stop kneading my lap.” “Meow, yes, I am very content right now. I’m rarely this content. Ppffffpmuuuur. mew. ” (My cat is probably the most vocal domesticated animal I have ever met, “Ppfffmuur” for instance and “mmMA”—with short “a” and more stress on the “M”.) “I can’t understand what you’re saying,” I think. The cat doesn’t say anything. As I email, etc., cat, “Gatugala”, whimsically decides to exchange my lap for the bed. That’s fine. I don’t care. I’m absorbed in my email. Then I turn around to see Gatugala, which means “giant cat”, licking her long languid leg held above her head as she intermittently glances at the ceiling and some unknown distraction. …I don’t appreciate body washing on my bed. I never have. It’s where I sleep and alone, no cats. I’ve been told this was the former bedroom of Gatugala’s owner, whereupon Gatugala took up residency and peed on the bed. Knowing this, I am not about to let this cat urinate in my room on my bed. I enjoy Gatugala and politely tapped her butt and rubbed her ears. “Giant cat…please get off my bed.” No reply, more washing of the underarm. …Sometimes indifference amuses me to no end. I enjoy zero responses and wonder in my brain, “what does it take to be the absolute center of their attention…only for a moment?” I rarely think this way about cats. Seeing as Gatugala is indifferent to where I sleep and what I say and how I feel, I screamed shrilly, “get off the bed!” …no I didn’t, but being much larger, I did press her body into the bed and she thought it unpleasant and didn’t want to lick herself any longer. “Did you hear what I said?” “…why am I talking to a cat?” She didn’t move. I think…she thought…she was entitled. “…why does it matter? why am I watching this animal watch me?” She swatted me. She did. Then to my astonishment, Gatugala, the cat I am in fact fond of, hissed at me. …Cats hiss. Don’t be alarmed. It’s no surprise. They’ve been hissing since they boarded Noah’s ark. It may mean general irritation at the sight of the floor or the water bowl or the fact that you are bigger and it must walk on four feet or maybe it’s a gloomy day, or it can mean stark raving madness. Gatagula is in love with me and has never hissed or tried to bite me. “…I have a relationship with a schizophrenic cat.”

Next day:
Today I got tired of the mewing and constant noise for…who knows why the cat sits in the middle of the room and thinks you understand it. If I move to acknowledge the drama and show attention to the demanding cat meowing it’s head off and looking only at me, if I say, “for crying out loud, what is the problem,” it shows me its butt and walks away. It never runs, but always walks aimlessly into all the furniture, rubbing its head and butt along the way. Today I was tired and chased the cat, watching its surprise, then desperate, sliding escape over the lovely wooden floors. We started in the bedroom doorway, skidded (and I loudly followed) through the endless foyer—passing the retiring sofa and watchful table lamp. The coat rack stood silent, the shoes motionless. She barely missed the dining room exit, lost control in the dining room, and plowed into the giant armchair before seeing deliverance flooding through the big, huge, divinely sent open window. I rather enjoyed the whole episode and turned and went back to my room. This evening when I came home from teaching, Gatugala greeted me with all the unconditional love in her schizophrenic heart, as if I had never been a monster. Maybe she is an amnesiac.

Eudaemonic

I learned a new word, eudaemonic. Before you go to dictionary.com and look it up, as is your obsessive habit, or mine, I will put eudaemonic in a few sentences for you to extricate it's meaning. (Then you will feel erudite.) For example, the coffee I'm drinking now makes me feel grand. Eudaemonic coffee is grand. ...ok maybe I need to work on this usage. Eudaemonic is an adjective. Now look it up. The music I'm listening to now about dancing in the rain with the wife I don't have and making love like ballroom dancing is eudaemonic...or it should be. Robi Draco Rosa is eudaemonic to look at, particularly if your a woman...even if you're a man. He's very handsome. I'm eudaemonic to myself when I make myself laugh. I was looking at pictures of my sisters wedding last night and noticing people's shapes. I notice that two newly weds had very oval shaped heads. They had oval faces, but their entire heads seemed shaped like ovals too, on the end of stick necks. I suppose I was being imaginative or artistic. It was eudaemonic. I need to be refreshed on the parts of speech...objects of prepositions, adjectives, nouns. You know you learn those things in 4th grade. I feel sheepish.

bulletin on speed

I often feel trapped in an inexpressible, suffocating inner room with soft padded walls and sterile lighting and inner demons, not outer demons, and you can call it a "conundrum". So every time you think of the word "conundrum", you can think of the little person trapped inside you who doesn't know how to talk to people about feelings or who does not under any circumstances want to. I know I'm more or less redefining conundrum, but who cares and maybe when you think of "conundrum" now you will laugh and give it persona. but you'll have to be pretty imaginative. Anyway, my stroke of genius is more or less pure impulse to spill from my brain as fast my fingers move, words that will make sentences AND SO release pent up, internalized energy. So you know, I'm champion of the free internalizing world. ask any thoughtful person. If I don't verbally express myself when I feel I want to, I either make some goofy noises or sing rather loudly in my room or grow silently irritable with my surrounding, like today at work when I wanted to explode the splenetic nurse with the sweet face and mouse voice that belyingly spews profanity under her breath. I wanted to explode her head with my laser eyes from a comfortable distance way down the hospital hall. Or (if I don't express myself verbally) I impetuously bulletin the free myspace world. I am not a crack head. ...I'm wondering if anyone who reads anything I write thinks I'm a very outgoing, talkative, kind, loving person? Don't be stupid. I'm a closet extrovert who gets off writing silly things that entertain me, whenever I feel like it. I feel like it write now. NOW. Alright, you've had enough. I have to go hang on a hang board so I can get wickedly strong. Then I have to shower because I'm not clean. Then I have to do other things and there is never enough time.

This is the most important part of this blog:

Ecclesiastes 12:1 Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, I find no pleasure in them.