Troubles of my thoughts

Aptly, “Affanni del pensier” (Handel) is a perfect description of my opinion of juries. I am excited and terrified, and sick with it. And I’d give anything for a moment of peace, at least.

I rehearse today at 4 with my professor in the Black Box of Doom (804). Again. And hopefully this time I will be able to add some artistry to the aria I received just over two weeks ago. To some, this might seem like no time at all in which to master the music. I, on the other hand, am not a super great memorizer (or writer, right now, apparently). I also have a shit ton of other stuff going on. That’s not an excuse, it’s just the truth. My planner is riddled with scribbles: “E-mail these people. Composition assignment draft; theory (theme and variations worksheet). Aural skills: practice. Rehearse- 4oo” and so on and so on.

I forgot to eat again today. This is the second time it’s happened. So, to make up for it, I bought myself an amazing sandwich at Java’s. But I’m still shaky, still feeling the aftereffects of being stupid and not nourishing myself. I didn’t want another stupid bagel again, though! And that’s pretty much the only good thing I can identify in that pathetic little food-providing institution they call the Pit.

Anyway. So I’m a little twitchy and full and nervy right now. I’ve got an hour and six minutes to solidify Affanni before Ciesinski hears it again. I might sing it through to myself here, then read it: again and again and again. Then sing through it softly one more time. I might speak the words in the order they go in. I don’t know.

I just want to do well. I’m working for it; I’m trying. I’m trying.

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In the first spinning place

I’m sick today.

But it’s okay, because it’s just a head cold. Praise Jesus. Although granted it feels like a hippopotamus is sitting inside my brain, chillin’. But it’s okay! I only have two exams to freak out for this week, and I’m singing in studio tomorrow with Orlando accompanying me and no Joong-Han and crappy Italian and OH I feel like crap.

But it’s okay. I get to sit out of Women’s Choir tonight, by order of my Professor (who basically runs my life, and it’s great). I’ll go to River Campus and get some food and do some work and take Robitussin and decongestants.

I’ll give you a statement

I hate this class.

I’m sitting here with my head spinning from lack of caffeine and wondering why anyone would want to read an academic paper in the first place, especially when the action is supported by an FML-laden, “I’m going to read your essays whether they’re brilliant… or total pieces of garbage, because I’m paid to do that.” Thanks, Professor. Now go get a job you actually want to do so I don’t have to sit here listening to you. Every word chafes, acidic little scrapes that say to me, “Just because you’re musicians, you’re not above manipulating the English language… but because you are musicians, I’m going to assume you don’t know anything about language, as well.”

Clearly we’re just stupid music geeks with superiority complexes. And obviously the reason I hate this class is my predilection to assume I’m too good to write, especially because I think I know everything but REALLY lack all knowledge whatsoever about essay composition and/or snagging myself an audience that actively reads.

Maybe I’m just a bitch this morning, maybe… maybe… shit, I don’t know. This is just so pointless. “You need to make your reader interested.” Check. Readers usually engage because in anything I write, I usually make sure I know what the hell I’m talking about first.

“Your thesis is your point.” Okay. We all know this. If anyone was not aware, they can take this hellish course instead.  I’m sick of this. I’m sick of sitting here having the theses of each classmate ripped apart in front of me. I’d rather not destroy others’ writing. I like writing. I don’t like critiquing my classmates’. It makes me uncomfortable. And According to Azzara, a classroom setting should not be threatening or intimidating. My thesis was just up on the screen, and although it’s anonymous, it’s like, come on. My tone was addressed, and apparently theses need a great deal of specificity. Whatever. It obviously doesn’t matter what I think or how I write, because I’m not educated and need the topic of thesis statements plowed into the ground until it’s just a slimy pathetic puddle whimpering on the pavement.

“You need to set up and explain the problem and then provide a resolution.” Here’s a resolution, then, or we might call it a revelation. Perhaps one should be able to notice when the majority of one’s class is b0red to tears (this ten person class is 40% Asian,  50% female, and the other boys are clever, despite always being late). One should also be able to engage the class in a pleasant manner. Also, it’s freakin’ critical that one have the ability to note and somehow proactively address significant lack of interest. Here’s a headline: NO ONE CARES, Because Everyone in this Class Already Knows About and/or Can Do What is Being Discussed.

“How does this help you with your paper?”

Well, it doesn’t. I’m not writing a paper right now. I’m blogging, and I’m pissed that an hour of my day is glommed away by this utterly pointless course. If we’re required to take a mandatory writing course, can’t we at least be offered courses that aren’t booby-trapped? Like, you should pick this one, it looks vaguely interesting, but you’ll really spend your first semester wanting to beat your head against the desk in front of you in the fruitless hope that you’ll forget the hours of torture incurred three times a week at 8:30 in the morning.

So, yeah. Just in case it wasn’t clearly outlined, I’ll reiterate: I freakin’ hate this class.

Yeah. No thanks.