Spring 2009

So far, that is my graduation date from Dominguez Hills. Brandon asked me the other day, am I loving it? And I couldn't answer. I'm not loving it, but I am loving getting it done, and reading texts and writing is of course a love of mine, so it's a tough question to answer directly. If there were even shadows of a Blythe, Joe, John, or Brandon...well, then I would be loving it. I have some good recommends for next semester, and of course even the instructors that you don't like, you learn from. I'm learning in American Lit to at least attempt to follow directions, and that drafting is a really good idea. I'm learning from my British Lit professor that one should never shrink back from students -- it's very unbecoming, and elicits a grotesque kind of frustrating sympathy. It gives me a feeling of distaste when it appears that someone is broken, or has been run over, and the response is only a flexible kind of pliant bendability; not a rigid, defensive armor, with weakness in the joints, perhaps; but this gumby-like teetering, this blowing in the breeze of discussion, and helpless referral to things apparently concrete, like a computer slide presenting the FACTS from 1762, the FACTS about Daniel DeFoe, facts which are themselves fluid and temporal, it makes one long for fire, for ice, for strength, for passion. She is the epitome of water, with her pooling blue eyes, and flat look -- I need a leader, for goodness' sake.

Or at least be funny, for crying out loud.

In order to graduate in 2009 I will have to take summer school, and four classes in the Fall and four classes (including my senior seminar) in the Spring. The Fall semester could end up being four survey classes. Sigh. It's all so good, but I should have gone to school at seventeen. I should have done this, and then got married...then had kids...it's all so backward. Ten years of marriage, but only two and half years of college. There's just not enough beer and tequila to manage it all.