I hate it. I hate timed things, especially with writing. Excellent way to guarantee that I'll turn out a piece of b.s. or crap, really; I sit there and I panic ... either that, or I sit there and I can't think of a thing I'd like to say on the subject. Both with the same end result - F!
"Write a letter to your peers explaining [...]"
How well this reminds me of the last time I had to "write a letter to my peers" describing some authors "invention/revision/arrangement" strategies, as though we would actually use these while writing. Uh-huh. The teacher spent twenty minutes yelling at us for being unprepared, and then in my paper wrote that I should have gone into more detail. C.
Well, goddamn! I was going into so much detail in such an accurate lead-up that I couldn't get to my main point, mostly because you wasted twenty minutes of my time yelling at me for something I will not remember down the road. From this I will only take away annoyance and the sound of your penetrating voice brutalizing my ears.
Invention. Revision. Arrangement. Methodology. I recognize that some format or structure is needed, but cripes they take all the joy out of writing. They beat this into me semester over semester, endless "reading responses" where we write what we think the authors were thinking when they wrote whatever they wrote.
I want to go back to my drawing class. I wish it met more than twice a week. That's the only class I look forward to, and some surprise that is! The Deathly Doldrums are upon me tomorrow (I'm the only person who has stoutly believed for the past few years that the world will either end on a Tuesday or a Thursday).
Political Science, I will sit there and hope she doesn't call on me for discussion, because I read the book last Wednesday and already I have forgotten what it was telling me, and I have no desire to refresh my memory. The only possibly positive thing about that class tomorrow will be the fact that I'm taking my NYLC Model Congress book with me to show to her, mostly for bragging rights - I'm not an idiot student, thank you very much - and to show her how other simulations I've been in run (more effectively mind you, but then again most folks at NYLC were there for a reason, unlike this class).
From there I run off to my Critical Reading/Writing/Research class. Here is where I shall sit there for the entire class period in a total stupor, unwilling and unwanting to write the goddamned timed "letter." If it's a letter, why am I structuring it like an essay? Why the hell would I be writing a letter about this to anyone? Cripes, I don't even remember what parts of the book I should be remembering, her "methodology." I don't care about that. I really don't! ARGH!!!!
Then there is a break for lunch, and I hop off next to my Design Orientation class. Rather dryly eager to see what they think of my wire foot. ::rolls eyes::
- meiel, wishing that Monday had never come, for after each Monday comes a Tuesday, which only leads to Wednesday. Wednesday reminds her that there is still so long to go until she is free once more, and the Thursday that follows is taunting her with what she cannot yet have. Friday is boring as hell because that's when she works. Damn Frontpage. If I ever catch anyone with a page made by Frontpage, I will have to hunt you down and teach you the lessons of Wordpad. Grrr.