Back to the grind this week. Just the usual slew of classes and work.
We had a guest speaker in my class on teaching. He spoke about undergraduate writing and how it is basically awful, and what we can do as educators to fix it while still covering the material we’re supposed to. It was a really useful lesson. It’s so frustrating to have to read sentences multiple times because they make no sense.
Speaking of which, I got a new stack of papers to grade this week. Sigh.
Otherwise though, it’s been a lot of the usual in terms of school.
Cherub - Doses & Mimosas
To all the bitch ass hoes that hate me the most, yeah I hate you too. To all the punk ass fucks that just wanna talk shit, I hate you too.
I did a lot of self-disclosure this week, especially considering I only had one day of classes. In my Social Psych class, we were discussing the research on attraction and relationships. There was some good discussion about evolutionary theory, gender differences, and post-hoc explanations.
I guess I should preface by saying that one of my biggest pet peeves is when people over-generalize. Saying things like “always”or “never” bugs the absolute shit out of me.
Anyway, in my Social class, a fellow classmate was discussing a finding that heterosexual women prefer older men when looking for a romantic partner. The professor asked the class if the findings (published 25 years ago) would still hold today. The student, a woman, was going on about how SHE would never date someone younger and NO ONE she knows would EVER date anyone younger…so I just yelled out, “Well I dated someone younger.” Shut her right the fuck up.
In my Teaching class, we were talking about hybrid and online classes. I was already frustrated because people were making these sweeping statements about online classes being terrible when their only experience has been with Blackboard, quite possibly the worst fucking tool available for teaching an online class. So I was already arguing with several of my classmates about the value of online classes when someone started spouting off about how online classes make people less inclined to talk or share their opinion and how it’s feeding into the dissolution of our social skills. I proceeded to lay her out by explaining how I used to be a student who sat in the back of class and refused to participate, and how online discussions gave me the confidence to put my thoughts out there, blah blah blah. I was stretching the truth a bit, but I think I made my point.
In good news, I was accepted to the week-long summer program that I applied to. I’m very excited to be able to meet and work with some of my academic crushes!!
I also had a training session yesterday in psychopharmacology. I was expecting the worst, since I tend to be biased against psychiatrists, but I was very pleasantly surprised by how level-headed, logical, engaging, and professional the lecturer was. He is a rare bird though…a psychiatrist who does therapy. So I’m hoping to stay in touch with him to eventually have a GOOD psychiatrist to refer clients to!
Then one morning she’d begun to feel her sorrow easing, like something jagged that had cut into her so long it had finally dulled its edges, worn itself down. That same day Rachel couldn’t remember which side her father had parted his hair on, and she’d realized again what she’d learned at five when her mother left—that what made losing someone you loved bearable was not remembering but forgetting. Forgetting small things first, the smell of the soap her mother had bathed with, the color of the dress she’d worn to church, then after a while the sound of her mother’s voice, the color of her hair. It amazed Rachel how much you could forget, and everything you forgot made that person less alive inside you until you could finally endure it. After more time passed you could let yourself remember, even want to remember. But even then what you felt those first days could return and remind you the grief was still there, like old barbed wire embedded in a tree’s heartwood.
Ron Rash, Serena (via nudewave)
Today is two years.