The Teacher From HELL

Why do I have to have the teacher from hell for my drawing teacher?

He made me cry today for the second time this semester. Today was my first full day back after being so damn ill from Swine and then pneumonia. I brought in all of the homework (except for 1 that I didn't even know about it because he chose to post it on a different section on Oncourse and failed to tell me because I wasn't in class last week to which he responds with, "Well, THAT assignment is definitely late then.") and laid it out on the floor of the room next door to our classroom while he walked around it and just looked at it.

There were 6 drawings on the floor. He looked at 2. And only commented on 1. Wow.

And of course, it wasn't anything good. He told me that I'm "not doing it right" and that I need to work on drawing tonally. We're all STILL confused as to what he means by that exactly...and it's almost the 3rd month of classes.

Then he asks me, "So, do you have your 5 in-class drawings for your midterm grade?" I just looked at him, confused. "I thought it was your 5 best drawings, whether they were homework or not, and that's what I brought." He replies, "No, it's just in class-drawings." I look at him, again very confused. "Well, I don't even think I've been in class long enough to have 5 in-class drawings."

His response? "That's unfortunate."

WTF?!?! Then he continues by telling me that I REALLY need to pick it up and that he's basically starting me over, whatever that means. He said, "I want you to draw everything in this room, all of the clay faces on the wall, all of the muscle statues, and all of the skeletons, front and back. And you need to spend way more than 6 hours on each homework and really wow me in class." W...T...F...????? But that wasn't even the worst part. The kicker was his extremely thoughtful line following that...

"And I know you're only taking 2 classes, Abby, so you have more than enough time to do all of this."

I literally dropped my jaw. WTF is wrong with you, asshole?! As if I don't have a full-time job, too...yeah, let's just forget that. And the fact that I only missed in class drawings because I was sick and yet STILL managed to have all of my homework done AND a few other drawings that I did in place of the in-class drawings I missed!!!

After all of this, he says, "Ok! Let's get back to work!" and leaves me to clean up all of my drawings without talking to me or anything and right before slamming the door on me says, "Turn off the lights and shut the door when you're done."

Nice.

After I cried in the hallway while on the phone with Brandon, I return to class just knowing that he's going to fail me no matter what I do. Clearly I looked upset and other people in the class could tell. I mentioned my fear of being failed to a few classmates and they confided in me how much they dislike him as well and how horrible of a teacher he is.

Then during a break, I'm standing in a corner just waiting for the model to come back so I can continue WOWING him when I hear him talking to a classmate about the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The classmate says, "You know it was based on a true story, right?" and my terrific "professor" replies with, "Are you fucking kidding me?! No fucking way! You're lying! That's not fucking true!"

Now, I don't mind it if a teacher drops a curse word here and there but he curses ALL THE TIME and takes no shame in dropping the f-bomb as much as possible. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I didn't think that was proper classroom etiquette. I've always thought he wasn't very nice, but today he was just plain rude, inconsiderate, and improper. He's a teacher, for FUCK'S sake! Since when is it OK for a teacher to curse freely in front of his students while in the classroom?! 

He has really upset me. There's no way I can draw EVERYTHING in that classroom. Not only do I not have the time, it's not fair because no one else had to! If I technically have to make up all of the in-class work, then I should only have about 5 more drawings to do.

There are like 15 clay heads on that classroom wall. FUCK THAT.

Tomorrow, I'm going to try to go to the head of the art department because not only is he treating me unfairly, but his behavior in class is just completely unacceptable. I'm sorry I missed class but in light of the Swine hitting IU's campus, every department has changed its policies about absences for this semester, meaning anyone who feels sick must remain at home, send an email to their professors, and they don't need a doctor's note. Even though this would apply to me, I can do one better...I have a doctor's note for EVERY SINGLE CLASS I'VE MISSED. I've basically spent the last month and a half at the Health Center. So, they are ALL excused and I even put forth the effort to complete ALL of my homework while sick!

I don't understand his behavior towards me or in general, for that matter. My art history professor allowed me to make up the midterm today and asked me how I was feeling, spoke with me about the weather and about life in general, and took a walk with me! He understands that I'm going through a very tough time now that I simply have no control over. He treats me like a person and not a dog and I'm so grateful for that! I know he won't treat me any differently than the other students, and he shouldn't. I'm not asking for a handout...just a little understanding. I'm not even asking ANYTHING from my drawing teacher! I completed all of the homework while sick!

Unfortunately, my drawing teacher is just adding to my depression, which is just GREAT for my health. Thanks, professor. Please, go back to where you came from. And just in case you don't get it, let me put it in terms you'll understand: FUCK YOU.

More Poetry

I'm trying to write more because it's very therapeutic to me and helps me deal with all of the SHIT. I submitted some poems to Canvas and Fiore magazines in hopes that someone will publish me and not just SAY they will and then back out unexpectedly! Here's another one I recently wrote.

A Fool's Moon

You come to me,

Verona's true prince,

from Mantua to restore in me

my succulent soul that so left my flesh

long ago. My body,

weighted down and heavy with dispair,

has claimed its grave.

Your sweet respirations against my pale cheek

stir my heart; a bumble to a wilted daisy.

I am summer,

filled with long, lazy days.

The heat in me bleeds a stench

and stirs through my veins

and into my corroded mind.

My memories, charred remnants of those

I chose to surround myself with;

those evil minions in clever disguises.

You are the moon's child,

cool and calm with the stars as your soldiers.

The gleam of your face

against my belly, your tight grip

of the ocean pulling out the toxins and litter in me;

the sorrow and the fear.

You are love,

frozen and solid.

I carry your heaviness with me,

a jagged rock weighing down my creamy hand.

You come from dreams

as a fresh morning dew,

crisp and thirst quenching.

I bask in the light of you,

the shine from your forehead blinding me.

The fire of my hair reaching

for your kind tentacles,

the icy fingertips removing the sting

and numbing the evil parts in me

that threaten a perfect existence.

I shudder at your voice,

the force of your tongue

against your Chicklet teeth as a constant

nostalgic staccato,

bringing me back to a dirty childhood

compressed with depression

and Barbie dolls with stubs for hands,

the masticated plastic buried deep in King's old stomach

along with my first pair of eyeglasses

and the grass that garnishes the far left corner

of our porch.

I can be young with you;

kind and soft after the cool-down,

with a shy, damp brow and heavy charcoal lids.

October 19, 2009

New Poem...not necessarily Shakespeare but oh well!

My Nature

My nature ignites with change,

her trees bleeding Fall, slowly fading

into themselves and burrowing down into their roots,

escaping the foreshadowed freeze.

Her arms are stiff with another year passing,

another raping of her leaves and her precious youth

spent shading lovers from rain and sun alike.

The clouds are low,

pounding the moisture into her skin,

plumpling her and making her glow

like warm sex.

The maple glue overflows, wiggling through the bark's pores

and carmelizing with the cold;

mother's milk over ice.

My nature leaves me

when she can no longer feel the sun,

her arms too heavy to sway;

her feet frozen below.

I'm afraid to touch her,

my cold fingers like icy sausages

covered by thin, worn gloves.

I tiptoe around her moat in search for shelter

from Father Snow's ejaculation,

the coating that slows our traffic

and layers our front yards with a heavy dandruff.

The next four months will rob me

of concentration and my taste for ice cream.

My nature brings me closer to her silence

with the darkness of these harsh days,

the winds howling through my bare ears

and peeling my skin like hunger to a banana.

With flesh exposed, I dry out

and become whittled by her temporary death;

her empty hibernation.

October 19, 2009