stats mid-term tomorrow. im bummed (in general, not about test). so i cant force myself to study. its not registering. it shouldnt matter though, weve only gone over like a chapter and a half in the past four weeks. ive gone over and over it and i get it! its freaking no problem! but the teacher is such a tool! its so uncanny that i go over the chapter, do the exercises, take the text book tests and ace them! then go into the class and take a quiz and bomb it! wtf! he says hes going for "understanding" and asking questions that are more in the realm of "problem solving" and "thinking questions". but hes so vague and in general doesnt make any sense in what hes asking. and this is an introductory course! im not the only one either, i know that most of the class is completely frustrated with him as well. its kind of shitty how a prof can play such a huge factor in a course. i mean, i should be getting at least an A in this course. oh well, i think i should be able to pull it off. right now i think i should just sleep, at least go in well rested.
i just read thats its SG poetry day...heres my lame attempt...
09/30/03
Its been twenty-seven years now
As I sit here atop mounds of crumpled paper and broken picture frames,
Faded letters, old tattered T-shirts and rusty door hinges
I Look down to contemplate hands as things slide through fingers
Then turn behind to scan horizons scattered with old wrecks and debris
Like surveying that abandoned construction site where the financing ran out
Or like that painting started that leans in the corner unfinished
A deficient legacy
You turned to me and said
Do you remember when we were young, and thought that someday we would be somebody?
When our hearts and our minds were so full of our glorious aspirations?
When we stared wide eyed across the brilliant landscapes of our dreams?
I smiled a strange smile
Took another stiff pull of a strong drink
And welcomed the warmth and heaviness it brought to my eyes
Ive been finding it hard not to wring arthritic hands
Not to labor and moan when getting out of chairs
Not to count the loose hairs in showered hands
Not to trace the wrinkled lines in faces and wonder
Will they ever lead to somewhere?
To stretch limbs laboriously towards the sky
And snap, pop, and creak away that feeling of being beaten
By hoaring for paycheques, accumulating interest, minimum payments
Partial credits earned for worthless degrees
That stale cold air breathed in at dead end jobs
Lets make the rent then get drunk on weekends
We both took another hard pull on our anesthetic
and lay on our backs to squint eyes and peer through the fog
and searched the sky for stars
i just read thats its SG poetry day...heres my lame attempt...
09/30/03
Its been twenty-seven years now
As I sit here atop mounds of crumpled paper and broken picture frames,
Faded letters, old tattered T-shirts and rusty door hinges
I Look down to contemplate hands as things slide through fingers
Then turn behind to scan horizons scattered with old wrecks and debris
Like surveying that abandoned construction site where the financing ran out
Or like that painting started that leans in the corner unfinished
A deficient legacy
You turned to me and said
Do you remember when we were young, and thought that someday we would be somebody?
When our hearts and our minds were so full of our glorious aspirations?
When we stared wide eyed across the brilliant landscapes of our dreams?
I smiled a strange smile
Took another stiff pull of a strong drink
And welcomed the warmth and heaviness it brought to my eyes
Ive been finding it hard not to wring arthritic hands
Not to labor and moan when getting out of chairs
Not to count the loose hairs in showered hands
Not to trace the wrinkled lines in faces and wonder
Will they ever lead to somewhere?
To stretch limbs laboriously towards the sky
And snap, pop, and creak away that feeling of being beaten
By hoaring for paycheques, accumulating interest, minimum payments
Partial credits earned for worthless degrees
That stale cold air breathed in at dead end jobs
Lets make the rent then get drunk on weekends
We both took another hard pull on our anesthetic
and lay on our backs to squint eyes and peer through the fog
and searched the sky for stars
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
I think at least one out of every twenty things that comes out of my mouth (or keyboard) is pretty alright.
Thanks for perpetuating the rumor.