n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Thursday, November 09, 2006

whine line, beep beepidy yo'

I don't write on this thing so much any more now that I don't feel like I can gossip. See, a few folks around this place check on the ol' blog from time to time and it doesn't feel right, oddly, to talk openlike about things going down. It was kind of comforting to write about people I knew would never get ahold of the address. I mean, I don't think I was incredibly bitchy, but I did feel like I could write what I wanted.

[so: sex, drugs, medical alerts, rock n' roll... to summarize gossip about other folks]

and on top of that i'm not writing very much lately. okay, not at all. well, a little bit. but not very much. from time to time, i think i'm in a slump, but the seconds in between i think i'm just in the middle of another adolescent prehormone growth-lag. I feel frustrated with writing because i'm not really sure what I'm interested in enough to write about. I go back and forth on the whole "liking people" thing - but then again I'm not sure that writing about fetid mud puddles does it for me either.

everything sweeps away into something that swept away before.

I'm a little pissed off right now. a little bit annoyed. on several levels. Oh, I know I should be happy and I am that we now have house/senate + added unexpected perk of that fuckhead Rumsfield biting the dust. But then there's all the missed events and horizons that just speedy on by me on a daily basis.

I had an interview today for a TA position for next semester, and the dude I interviewed with who I find repugnant on so very many levels started the interview by saying "Oh, I'm so sorry, I mean we normally discourage your application." "Um, what?" I asked, completely and absolutely befuddled. And then he says, "well, TA-A's aren't supposed to teach more than one semester and you should have been told that." "No," I said, "I hadn't been told that." "Oh well," he says dashingly, "We'll just go on through this interview in case something doesn't work out elsewhere."

Now, not only was this a really crappy way to start an interview, and not only had I not been told... in fact, I had been told I could apply, and in fact I know other TAs who have had more than one semester. I also had it that "once you're in, you're in." So either this is some kind of new policy that hasn't been publicized, and they just decided to try it out during my interview for shits and giggles, or That Dude knows I find him loathsome and just wanted to fuck me up. Or something else entirely, I'm sure. Now... I guess it's an okay policy to rotate the limited TAs, but surely this is something they should let us know in advance, because I'm sure I was never fucking aware of this, nor any other TA I know. What a bunch of cocksuck. And now I'm jobless next semester. And I can't apply for the local community colleges because the deadline's passed.

At least I had the interview just in case.

Now, add this to two failed get-togethers with a potential buddy who has seriously just blown me off. And she promised to make it up when she flaked on me the first time, but... What am I, pond scum? I mean, it's pretty easy to blow off pond scum. You just inhale deeply, lean down to the water, and then exhale with pursed cheeks and a mouth squinched to a cherry form. But I think I have a little more heft to me. True, the heft is a layer of blubber that means I float around nicely, but with tight enough density to make me a heavy bobber to shuttle with a solitary exhale. I mean, I've got family, I've got a few friends, and I've got my pride to think of. yeah, pride. And I am not at the moment pond scum. So, here I am, in the midst of my busytime... I've got so much schlock I can't believe it. I found out in my pseudo-interview that I've got one more teaching day than I thought (yeaaaaaaaah!), holiday art sale next week, now apparently starting mid-week, a chapbook to write, an exhibit to make for the gallery which I've got three weeks to do... so, the gist is busy... and I want to hang out with one of my new friends... and I take a little time to do so... and blahblahblahblah.

Making friends is for bunnies.

I'm not a bunny.

Then Tuesday was hard too because my advisor who I still adore and think is my only mentor is this world and is tough on me but also encouraging... well, she kind of shredded a piece I was actually fond of. Okay, I wasn't just fond of it. I was downright pleased with it. It made me smile, and I thought it was sassy. Now, I think on the phrase "shredding it," and I try to be reasonable with myself and decide if it was really "shredded" or if I am just being over-sensitive to a few meaningful criticisms. And if I am just extra-sensitive because I haven't been writing with any sunbeams coming from my fingertips lately. And if I am very very extra-sensitive because what she said hit a nerve in terms of a) being right, and b) oddly feeling reflective of myself even though the narrator was a dead, mythic male warrior with a boner for another dead, mythic male warrior. She called the narrator untrustworthy, which would have been great and fabulous if that was my aim. I don't think it was my aim. I mean, I didn't want him to be thought of as this stand-up kind of fellow, but I didn't really think of him in terms of trustworthiness. So there's that. It's good, it's good, what she said was interesting and if I sit down and actually apply myself for once this friggin semester, I'm sure I could get the comment to help me out. And it will help me out. As soon as I stop thinking of it as lettuce.

And my feelings were smited.

Then, on that same day, a proposal I had for a group publication—a proposal I actually thought was quite smashing—got all the reception of a protozoa pushing its way across an un-inked petri dish. Oh, darling, what a love little flagellate you are! Well, there were other good ideas, but mine was shot down with nary a pleased and intrigued gaze. Maybe because I turn into a smug-faced gipper whenever I'm nervous? Anyhow...

Pride was smited.

So, that's my extended and self-pitying gripe for the week. Sorry, the gripe won't happen again for awhile, and soon I will post something brilliant like a beacon fortified off a shiny bald head.
Comments:
Your proposal was good. Our class is just fucked up sometimes. A Toolbox???
 
haha... textual power drills, here we come!

(and thnx, that was sweet to say. i think it was just a hard week and i was extrasensitive.)
 
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