Board of Confusion (due to Board of Education)
It’s one of those nights. I’ve struggled one more time to write something meaningful enough to reach even one reader… I’d settle for a louse-y one at that.
I’ve strung hundreds and thousands of words together under my legal identity to creep with excellence one step closer to having a classroom of my own.
My brain is fried. Neurons have died. What else could I have tried?
And instead, I come up with long tirade about writer’s block. Only it’s not really writer’s block, or I would not have turned in so many papers written well enough to keep an academic four-star rating.
The terms dancing in my head just don’t pair well for poetry — transphobia, speaking wounds, genuine victim reciprocity, standards alignment, formative assessment.
It’s like if I write creatively I cannot write real-world objectively. If I’m churning out real world objective stuff, the muse runs and hides and no poetry is produced.
AAaaarrrrrgghhhhh!!!! At least I’m 50% complete… or is it 62.5%… or do I have to include reading time and writing time in addition to class time which makes it feel like 0.05% time…
Just another ten days… or is it 13… I’m lost… I’ve lost… I’ve lost it and I’ve lost count…
And yet, the insanity is my fault. When I went to college the first time, you had very few summer options. This time around, there are three mini-terms in the summer with all… kinds… of… options…. *eyes glaze over, drool drops down chin*
So I picked not one, but two, two, two options *laughs like the Count on Sesame Street)…
And I did it in summer intensive… I always do bite off more than I can chew. Yet, you’d think, the session being called called intensive would have warned me that it would get (almost) intolerable, even for a glutton for punishment like me…
So, if you’ve followed me this long, bear with me. You know good things come from my keyboard, and I will return there.
If you’re new, please don’t run away. I want to run away, and if you do, you’ll empower me to do it as well.
