Something must be in the air, or the water; or in the specific air I breathe or the water only I’m drinking. I haven’t been this cranky in a long, long time. Is it the springtime? Is something bestial or primitive or Id-aggressive waking from hibernation? Does anyone else feel this way?
The trees are budding, though. Little, sprouting leaves will become bolder as the season progresses. This makes me happy. Or, at least, something inside fights for the sunshine and cheer.
I won’t be able to raise my history grade. I guess I’m okay with a B. The last exam was really close to breaking 90%: the essay section even earned “nice analysis,” “cool analysis,” and “nice turn of phrase” in the margins, which says more of my critical thinking than my ability to regurgitate information. Fine by me, I say. This is so much better than I was doing the last semester I was here. It would be nice to have a better rote memory, though. … I do love the class, nevertheless. That I can pay attention the entire 150 minutes says a lot about the subject matter and the instructor.
I spoke with my academic advisor today. I really need to take intro to creative writing. While short stories and essays have my utmost attention now, I’ve also developed an affinity for poetry that I can’t explain. We discussed Gertrude Stein today in history class. We read the first four sections from Tender Buttons. If you haven’t read this, give it a try. It’s a trip. It might help to know Cubism heavily influenced Gertie’s poetry. Anyway, I commented on a part of it in class, and I felt comfortable doing it.
We also discussed T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and I fell in love with words and language all over again.
Another thing about my history class: The text has a color photo section, and the last leaf has a picture of The Gates exhibit that was in Central Park back in 2005. I stared at that photo, and deep nostalgia took over me. I almost cried.
Well, I have less doubt that I’m in the right major. This feels pretty good.
Now, if only I can fight the urge to wring people’s necks.