I get offered my first English Major class since quitting a professorship in Albany. This is a big deal, folks, because of a strangely classist system called "tenure-track," which I walked away from and was assured I would pay for, indefinitely. A deep love for Auburn, alongside a deep love for two grown children who will never move, prompted me to make the deeply painful choice of happiness over career. And then? I get the gift of you, English majors, one more time for the road. Most probably for the last time. You were a gift from Dr. Frank Walters and a quick response on an email to our Composition Director. You were worth every bumpy, nutty, confusing, emotional, victorious, academic, life-changing moment of the last four months.
Sometimes, we have to make the hard, very costly, decisions that feel more like jumping off a cliff than flying. When I think about my career, I always identify with Forest Gump: game legs, good intentions, strange road. This is what I hear most in my head when I look back at the last four months: "And I was running . . ."
A long time ago, an English teacher (about 24 years old) saved my life. Certainly, I do not see myself as the savior of my students, but here's what: you all save me, every day. This is why I heart Wilson. We are the same. In trying to teach, I learn. In trying to play a role, I become real. In reaching for that perfectly crafted warrant, thinking I am full of it, I find truth. Writing saves my life, every day. I hope we never forget this semester. I hope we always jump, risk, and somehow fly (even if it's by the seat of our pants) because anything else isn't living.
So . . . "Advanced Composition?" I think we made it. In these blogs, sweated out over fifteen weeks, we composed. We advanced. They are the story of us. (And I heart Wilson.)
With much gratitude,
Dr. Kat
I just stopped to find the perfect song for writing this last blog, so now I’m at 1:45—almost exactly two hours after I started this quest of getting this project done. It’s been a little bit of a ride for me. Let me tell you about it.
ReplyDeleteThere are a lot of things I still haven’t said. I won’t flatter you—or myself—by telling you that you now have a comprehensive picture of the woman I am or have been trying to be. What you see is a little different, a slight variation, like a pop song being played on country radio with a banjo sunken deep in the track: I am all of the things I’ve talked about, but I am also a woman totally separate from that. I will assume the same of you, because I think what I’m talking about is just humanity—just the tendency we have to portray ourselves, when possible, as the ideal versions of ourselves.
If this is my place to say thank you, then—thank you. Thank you for many things, but primarily for this: being, at one point, a little invested in what I had to say. For letting me love you in my own broken, fucked-up, half-informed kind of way. I don’t know most of you the way I should—certainly not the way I would have liked to—but I also know you better than so many other people that have been in my life, because there was a time you told me something difficult that you didn’t want to tell. And it may have been on accident (especially for you hardasses who theoretically refused to say anything personally significant this semester). Your love, beauty, and grace have mattered.
And that’s what I was thinking about a couple hours earlier on this same night: sitting on my kitchen counter, drinking sparkling grape juice from a glass bottle (bible study dinner, remember? because this is who I am, and I will make no more apologies), listening to my iPod while the dishes soaked. I was thinking about you, and what I could say to you that I wouldn’t feel strange about come tomorrow morning. I’m not trying to make you all sound like a one-night-stand…you’re more like my long-term hookup buddy. A step above a booty call. Friends with benefits. I’m getting a little ridiculous with this metaphor, but: you know what I mean.
You’ve been beautiful, and it’s made me want to be better at what I do—with “what I do” meaning any number of things. You’ve made me believe that my writing has merit, and even if it doesn’t, I still have the right to put it out there. At this point there’s nothing left to say to you that could give you something you need or don’t already have. So, my last song for the night- “The Trapeze Swinger”, Iron & Wine. Just like my timeline. And remember these things:
like we’ll meet again
and fuck the man
and tell my mother not to worry—
please remember me
fondly
and all my uphill clawing
my dear, but if i make
the pearly gates
i’ll do my best to make a drawing
of God and Lucifer
a boy and girl
an angel kissing on a sinner.
For all my sinner moments, I had you. Be loved and happy. 1:59.
With love,
Josie
Dear God. You kill me, Josie girl.
ReplyDeleteI apologize if this one gets lengthy. I apologize if I ramble.
ReplyDeleteThis class has been one of few classes at Auburn that I can honestly has changed me. I have gained a love for writing that I was sure I had lost. So thanks Dr. PD and the rest of you all for that.
This blog was a wonderful idea and breath of fresh air. After every post I felt I was made new.
At the same time, it was a great challenge. By normal standards, I am a good writer. I used to email my stories to my chemical engineering ex-boyfriend and he would tell me how talented I was.
I read some of my stuff to my science and elementary ed roommates. They too were very into it.
But compared to you guys, I feel very very humble. I write on here like I talk in everyday life. I am awkward and bumbling a lot of the time and that's how I feel on this blog. I wish we had more time so I could attempt to actually "wow" you guys and feel like I deserved to be posting among you.
We talked today about how this was a writing class that accidentally became a lesson on human nature. How true that is. It was said also that someone learned in this class that they didn't hate people as much as they thought.
I can relate. Just when I was thinking that everyone at Auburn was a mindless product of the "gimme gimme technological" generation...I met you all. You with your statements I could relate to and your words that left me wanting more.
But now I feel kinda like the girl who gets to test drive the Ferrari while being stuck with the beat up hatchback Honda or something (sorry if any of y'all have one of those...)
I mean...knowing that there are guys out there who are as self-aware as Wilson or as optimistic as Josh or as quick-witted as Drew how can I ever date the typical guy who talks about their biceps or whatever?
And knowing that there are girls out there that are as humbly poetic as Josie or sweetly complimentary as Martha or just a bright ball of sunshine like Kristina makes me wonder if all of my friendships with girls from now on will be just surface-level.
And most of all knowing that there is a teacher like Dr. PD who will teach students in the best way I have ever seen while letting them teach each other and themselves...giving them freedom to color outside of the lines...breaking down preconceived boundaries...well having any other teacher just seems unfair. (I swear that wasn't sucking up!)
When I registered for Advanced Comp I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I thought it would be the most boring, tough thing to date. Thankfully, I have never been more wrong about a class.
And I know we don't know each other as well as we could. You don't know that I hate to be alone. Or that I can remember birthdays better than anyone you've met. Or even that dancing is my other passion besides writing. But I guess now you do.
So thanks to all of you. Maybe it won't end here. Maybe we'll grab coffee one day and have brilliant conversation. Or maybe you'll need a favor and you'll message me on Facebook. But...even if it does end here and I never see any of you again...I want you to know I enjoyed it. For sure. Basically, everything Josie said but with my awkward twist to it.
Good luck and much love,
Courtney (or Court. Maybe we're on that level now.)
What I learned in this class. Well first of all I want all of you to know that you are very talented writers who intimidated me from day one. I am really curious to see where life will take all of you. You all have so many awesome stories. I know I don’t say very much in class and I may seem that I am in my own world half the time but I promise I am listening. This year has been a really crazy cycle of changes both bad and wonderful for me. It was fun to be able to channel some of my experiences in our writing assignments. It helped me to get beyond the pages of my journal to something much more. I can’t believe that this semester is already coming to an end. So many of your stories were touching, moving and phenomenally good! Thank y’all for having the courage to share so many personal stories with our class. Dr. P I will never forget your story that you told us about how you made it to where you are. It was such an amazing motivating story. So many of yall’s stories play in my head and have made me think more about life in general. As I have already said you all have some amazing talent. I wish all of you the best in wherever life takes you!
ReplyDeleteWhew! I can't believe this is almost over. I have to echo what everyone else so far has said - I didn't expect this class to be anywhere near what it was. If possible, I was more cynical than any of you about it. I came back to school for "one final semester" with the attitude that "at least I have two professors who I know I'll like, and the rest I can live through." I entered the entire semester with an attitude of jumping through hoops to acquire that coveted piece of paper - not of expecting to actually learn. I remember after the first day of this class - when Dr. P sent someone else in her stead and we didn't have books yet - calling my best friend almost in tears over how awful, boring, and busy-work-centered I thought it was going to be. How wrong I was. Once in a long while, you stumble across one of those classes that not only teaches you something, but changes the way you approach the world. This was one of those. It reminded me that there are people worth knowing in the world, that even those who seem stand-offish, dumb, or boring often have valuable insights. Thank you all for that.
ReplyDeleteI made new friends; I thought I had sworn off of that. I shared personal writing; I've always refused to do that. And I remembered how much I love writing. This class was far from the boring, awful experience I expected it to be, and I'm so glad I didn't go with my first impulse in August and drop it.
Wow. The love is amazing. I have slowly becoming more and more exhausted by school and work. I have been running on this treadmill for the past three years (all because of my pride and unwillingness to ask for ANYTHING from my family) and all I kept thinking was, please, just let my graduation date be here. But now I have decided I am going to continue my education, and prolong my years of hard work. Why? Because this class, gave me (like Courtney said) back my passion for writing. I can't wait to write some more, and I can't wait to send my work from the future to Dr. P and torture her with asking for her opinion. You all are so incredibly talented. I would love to know where life takes every single one of you in the next 10 years, and maybe we'll cross paths again, who knows? But you are all amazing individuals who make me hopeful for the future of our world. Thank YOU for giving this back to me. I was beginning to think my life might become all work and no play, but with people like you in the world, maybe the lines between work and play will become blurred again, and my (hopefully) future as a writer won't be as mundane as the education system makes it out to be.
ReplyDeleteGood luck to you all.
I'm not exactly sure what format we're supposed to follow for this assignment, but in light of the fragmented nature of our previous homework assignments, I'll take the money and run for a little while.
ReplyDeleteI'm guessing this post is the one where we're supposed to talk about what we've learned. I can't remember who it was in class that said this, but it is very true how we as English majors (or writers in general, so as not to leave anyone out) face the challenge of not selling out for a good grade. If we really care about the things we write, why does it even matter? Dr. Wehrs once told me that the grades don't matter. A C+ on a paper is not going to mean anything 20 years down the road. But if you learned something about yourself and about the world that stuck with you enough to change your life, that was what really mattered. I guess we all have to find that balance. Personally, I've found that writing for an assignment is one of the few things I do naturally. Honestly though, who wants to go speed-dating and tell the person across from them, "Hey, I like long walks on the beach...and oh, by the way, my only natural talent besides growing Wolverine-like sideburns is making A's on English papers with almost zero effort." ??? Nobody does. Yet, I have never felt more of a connection with the world around me and humanity in general as much as I have in my English classes, especially the really challenging ones. Obviously, writing a last-minute blog is not going to do any of this justice...on the contrary, it makes me write worse, if you can even call this writing. It's more like verbal upchuck.
I've learned a lot this semester; mainly that I really took last year for granted as an English major who knew he was in the right major when he started seeing the first vowel of the alphabet at the top of his papers. I've about lost that youth-like sense of the pursuit of excellence; "the chase." But now I realize that, as I finish out my college career in the spring, it has become not just the pursuit of excellence, but the pursuit of happiness. That is one of the few things in life that gets me by and will continue to be so as I start a new semester and a new year.
At the risk of sounding like a yearbook signature, I want to pause to say what I could never aloud. This is entirely too long but, again, I am better on paper. As Josie said at some point, I don’t know all of you as I should. If I have failed at anything in this class it was letting on how much I thought of you. I’m shy, but I think now that its over you won’t mind if I say that you’re all darling. The ones who loved this class like I did are the only ones who will read this anyway.
ReplyDeleteDr. PD – you made it all possible, and risked your job and everything to tell us what you did. I don’t think anyone of us will forget your story and the beauty that has come out of darkness in your life. You are truly wonderful and I am glad to know you. Please stop smoking – I don’t get what it is with all the cool people in the world not taking care of themselves. We need you to stay alive, ok? If you love us – and I think you do – love your lungs a little harder. I love you, and thank you for being there for me in a way you didn’t even realize when I needed it most.
Josie – You have the most delicate way of using four letter words. You’re exquisite and I envy your style like other. It’s dense and purple and there is a line in everything you’ve written that I wish I had said, not least of which was “Cut that shit out.” Mwah. Bless you for saying what you did so well – you somehow managed to be brilliant in a way that allowed others to do the same.
Trillium and Josh – I related to your styles and frustrations the most. You made it ok for me to articulate my own and that has made a difference.
John Page – “You’re infuriating.” Even though you aren’t reading this because you are hauling ass to finish your own responses on time, I’m still going to say this. I don’t care how many times you say you hate me, or tell me that my God isn’t real, or that I’m fat and naïve – you can’t get rid of me. Thanks for taking this class with me; I never would have without you. I love your writing, because it bores the hell out of me. I already know it all. And I never want to stop reading your story.
Martha Lee Anne – Good luck with Nutrition. I have old tests. Don’t lose your soul when Fellers tells you this is not a profession friendly to creativity. Keep writing, and writing, and writing. You taught me a lot about not being afraid to keep going until I’ve said what I wanted to say, and that was for sure something I would not have learned if you had not been in this class.
And finally, Wilson: You’re probably an out of this world kisser. Besides that there is very little I am sure of about you. And you’re brave. I dare say that being ‘around’ you has made me less lazy, and a braver - if not more cynical - lover of truth. Thank you.
To all of you: If I see you on campus, I will probably blush. Your influence has set in motion a change in me, how I think about and relate to humanity. I’m not complete; I am in fact further undone by this experience. You have seen the slab of raw meat that beats inside my chest, suffered my distaste for what’s outside of it. Subjecting you to that has made me want to more perfectly look into eyes…and say the same and more to faces I know and have yet to meet.
Thanks for enduring things that have taken me years to admit. This experience has been like going to a shrink or meeting God – it’s painfully real, and you walk away with more problems than you went in with because you are for the first time AWAKE to see how broken you truly are. The pain is the glory of it all. In the kindest way possibly, I mean to say that I hope you all will let yourselves be wounded for the sake of others. Your talent demands it of you. To plagiarize my Love, we – as humans, as writers – are not our own.
I figured this blog post would be the best way to slide myself back into the mindset of school since I'm currently attempting to recover from the hangover from hell but from a weekend that I will surely never forget. WDE.
ReplyDeleteThis class taught me about self expression and the art of sometimes just saying "fuck it-I'll do what I want." Thank you for that. I have been the people pleaser for far too long.
More importantly, it taught me to challenge myself. I have never been much for writing anything outside of research papers and textual analysis. This class was much more than that. It showed me that writing about real life and I mean the true, honest to goodness, real life- struggles, mistakes, opinions, and the plain old truth kind of real life, makes for the best writing. Thank you all for teaching me that before it was too late.
I cannot recall the last time I was surrounded by such unbelievably talented individuals such as yourselves. It took me 2 1/2 years of college to finally decide what I wanted to do and after this class I have no doubt in my mind that English was meant to be the focus of my college life. Thank you for giving me security with my major.
Forever indebted to this class and Dr. PD for teaching me the most important thing about myself- to just be me.
I agree with Courtney. Part of me is shocked at the intelligence and insight in all of you, and part of me is disappointed because I know not everyone else is like this, and I want them to be. It has been a gift to write and discuss truths about life and perspective and love with you all. By blogging we have thrown a hand grenade into the traditional classroom, and turned everything upside down. Luckily, we uncovered what we were looking for in the first place. When I talk to my roommates and can't use the word "lucrative" without being made fun of for my vocabulary I realize I am either a) a highly educated egotistical asshole, or b) dealing with a bunch of retards. Then it hits me that not everyone is capable of the conversation that advanced comp has required of us, and although a few were resistant at first, I applaud you all for letting it all hang out- super huge vocabulary words and all. Your stories, memories, and emotions proved that you are all in fact human, and not retarded, and actually pretty cool people. There is some little thought in the back of my conscious that maybe everyone is like this once you get to know them, but I shake it off. That can't be possible. :)
ReplyDeleteSo for now I'll bid you all adieu. Maybe I'll see you in the hallway, or some other awkward place like Wal-Mart, and we can nod at each other like strangers that have shared stories of our first loves, greatest fears, and happiest memories. War Eagle.
"Wiiiiiiilllllsooooooonnnn!!!!"- Tom Hanks (Castaway)
ReplyDeleteSorry, I had to get that out of my system (that's what she said).
ReplyDeleteYou know, being an English major in a course outside of English courses is a lot less intimidating than being in classes like ours with everyone else running circles around you on the page (or blog in our case). Until recently, it urked me that here I was in a college course, learning from fellow students as well as from the teacher, and feeling like I was losing the race...or missing the point.
And I was.
You think I wanted to learn from the personal experiences of my peers for 20+ Grand a year? I don't think so. And yet I did. All the writing techniques and styles and all the stories and warrants, just whizzing by, and leaving me feeling like the 7th grade Paul Schissler basketball manager wishing I was playing in the game. Unfortunately, I accept and enjoy the fact that sometimes I'm the creepy guy who sits at the top of the bleachers alone and just studies people. But, in all of that, it's led me to wanting more out of my writing and holding myself to a higher standard- the standard that the class set (ever so highly). I know I should've talked more, and if you asked me in person, "why didn't you talk more?" I would probably give you a pocket-full of excuses like I gave Dr. P one day- that I'm all talked out from talking so much outside of class (radio and tv sucks my teet dry).
I can't wait to see you guys published one day. And when you make money from your published works, you're not gonna be able to wait to get rid of me.
In the words of the small girl from The Sound of Music: "Gooooooodbyyyyyeee.....goooodbyyeeeee....gooooodbyyyyyyyyyyyyeee!"
I feel kind of bad about the statement that I made in class about bloggers being self-indulgent whiners. It came out a lot harsher than I meant it to.
ReplyDeleteI regret not giving this a chance when I had the opportunity to. I was so hell-bent in my non-blogging ways. To be completely honest, I felt insecure of my own thoughts in comparison to all of yours. And my ego is too big to deal with that, so I shut down.
So I admire all of you for being so willing to share yourselves with me and everyone in this class. I appreciate the fact that I can say, "shit" "fuck" and "god damn" without getting reprimanded. I kick myself for being, well, myself (in the worst possible way).
If I could go back, I would have done things a little differently. Maybe then I would feel as good about my growth in the class as you all do. And as you all should.
What I learned in this course…
ReplyDeleteFor one thing, I will never forget that second day of class (since Dr. P missed the first day… ;) ) I was late because of the transit, of course and I did not know what to expect. I walked in to an edgy looking lady sitting on the desk with a bandana on and some Chuck Taylors…one word came to mind- gangsta’. But, seriously I knew this was going to be a very interesting ride.
Another thing I learned people do listen to the things you say and a lot of times they do not forget. I am going to be honest there are a lot of people in our class that I could not name, but I could tell you some things they said in class. It is not about the speaker it is about the message. This class really reminded me that just because I may feel I do not have anything in common with someone because of the way they look or the circumstances I may think they came from they could really have a message for me.
I love the way Dr. P talks about all of the important people in her life ranging from humongous football players (teddy bears) to highly educated individuals. All of these people make Dr. P who she is. I love the day in class she gave us her life story and she trusted us enough to be that real and that honest with us.
I want to be able to do that. No matter where my life may take me after I graduate next week. I want to be able to be that comfortable in my skin one day.
Sometimes in the class I would have things to say, but you guys would be so seep with your comments at times that I found it somewhat intimidating. Don’t get me wrong I am not a shy individual at all, but I never want to come off as the dumb one. So, if I am not completely sure of what exactly is going on or should be said I may just keep it to myself…sorry.
I enjoyed knowing you guys and laughing with you and I wish you all the best. Every time I see Hocus Pocus, you better believe I will be thinking of you.
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI really regret not getting more invested into this class. I wish I had learned to match names to faces, to really get involved with what was going on besides peppering the conversations with jokes.
ReplyDeleteI guess I'm really in the same boat as AlyFronk; wishing I could have done it differently.
P.S. If I ever have a class with you, Wilson, I'm going to sit behind you, so that when you're there maybe we can talk, and when you're at home nursing a hangover, I'll have a footrest.
Lul I keep posting in the wrong places.
ReplyDelete@William I had two classes with Wilson. On the day of the finals, Dr. T. had two muffins and went, "Does anyone else want one?" There's always this duality when someone offers you food. There's the part of you that convulses at the thought of taking it, in sharing in the world's otherness in front of someone else and embracing what is foreign. The other is like "fuck yes I want that muffin."
Guess which one was Wilson?
I spent the rest of the exam stifling giggles, and was surprised I managed to get an 'A.' Perhaps the best approach towards life's business is suppressed joy.
What I have learned from this class:
BS is stupid.
Love is always the answer.
Hug your cherished one today.
Hugs for you all.
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ReplyDeleteAnd here we are. The end. The end of the class. The end of the semester. The end of this Blog Project. I don’t want it to be over.
ReplyDeleteFirst off, I just want to thank you all for reading my posts and accepting me, who I am, all of me, the ups and downs. I’m okay with sharing some of that with you. This class gave me that feeling that you get every so often when I suddenly just want to spill my entire life story to anyone who will listen. That feeling normally comes after that feeling you get when you realize there is nobody left to tell, to cut yourself open for, nobody close enough to burden. I forgot how to need and how to be heard. This class scared the shit out of me the first day and even more when I realized how talented you all are.
Josie and Martha. Seriously. You are frigging amazing and eloquent and brave and I wish I could be as awesome as the both of you.
Wilson. Thank you. For being that person who Dr. P could call on in class and would say something, anything to get the conversation going. Thank you for apologizing to my face when I saw you at Starbucks, about that post that caused so much drama. Whether you meant it or not, I still haven’t forgotten it. And your post didn’t even bother me. And I actually meant it when I said that you’re going places.
Josh and Courtney. You guys were the first ones to talk to me in class and I know this seems so childish and so silly but it literally meant the world to me. I felt so intimidated by you all and I hadn’t even known you yet. You guys are awesome. And Josh, even though you don’t like to write you’re so good at it and I hope that you realize that.
John. You’re so sweet and I wouldn’t have known what to do without you in 20th Century Fiction. Thanks for always including me.
Robert. I thought you were a jerk at first. That lasted a while. And when we were forced to be partners for the semester, I didn’t know what to do. And then I talked to you and I read some of your stuff and it turns out that maybe you’re not so bad after all.
Drew. You are hilarious. I can’t even handle it.
Ardell. Your emotionless piece made me cry. Thank you for being so honest this semester, even when you didn’t have to. Good luck in Nashville – you are going to do such great things.
Dr. P. Shit. The first day of this class I had no idea if I was even going to come back. I’m so grateful that I did. You are amazing. You were honest with us and have opened your home to us and gave me a semester that I will never forget. My eyes are tearing up so I’m going to wrap this up – this isn’t goodbye, this is see you later.
As for the rest of you – thank you. You all have helped me be more open and have taught me more this semester than I can count on learning in my next two and a half years. I hope that if we see each other on the concourse we’ll wave or smile and that you won’t pretend to have forgotten who I am. I won’t ever forget any of you.
………...........................................
ReplyDelete……… I’ve saved this one for last.
I still don’t know what to say.
I’m still not sure what just happened.
Did I just hang out at my professor’s house?
Do people who aren’t my closest friends know me better than those friends do?
Did I just hand myself over freely to strangers, not afraid of the outcome?
Did I just say something out loud in class?
Is my heart still intact?
Is it really?
I don’t know what to think of this class, mostly because I feel like it wasn’t a class at all. I keep waiting for the psychiatrist to walk out and to say that the experiment is over. I love writing, but sometimes, I get so caught up in trying to fit the structure of “real” writing, that I forget how much I love it. I get trapped in academic papers, and I’m not allowed to write the way I really want. Sometimes, I forget that the students sitting around me in class are human beings. I forget that the reason I wanted to be an English major was to talk about the “deep” stuff and to connect to the human beings in my class in the first place….
Maybe you don’t know me. Maybe you do. Either way, I got over the fear to share myself. So thank you. Thanks for letting me be wordy, and “poeticy,” and too much. And if it made you sick to read what I’ve written, I appreciate you letting me write it anyway. Thanks for reminding me of how much I love writing.
And Dr. P….I was the one talking all of those times, not Wilson. So thanks Wilson for tolerating all of my chattiness.
I’m glad we got to get drunk and hold hands together.
Again, I feel cheap. Whatever I add will take away from the beauty of what has come before. I'll sweat, and I'll fear, and I'll fail. Oh well, here goes.
ReplyDeleteI don't know how to say what I learned in class. I already knew when I was being honest, and when I was flat-out lying. I also dove into the blog assignment fully intending to just tread water, and I don't know if I ever really did more than just that. I was real in the essays, but the blogs? God, how terrifying. How is a guy who barely has the nerve to talk to all the beautiful people in this class supposed to bare it all on a blog? Despite the medium, it's not easy. This isn't me, you only get to see the slice of me that I present in that particular moment.
That's where I begin to get frustrated. How do I show people that I am more than just a latte-loving liberal? How do I convey that I am not just a narcissist infatuated with his own stilted prose? So much is open for interpretation, and I don't think I was ready for it to be me.
But it didn't matter if I was ready, it was happening. And it happened throughout the semester. Through the blog, I've gotten to know these wonderful, nameless people in the class. Although you may not know me, when I look at you, I feel that I know you. And that's the beauty in this class. Twenty-something individuals, and I could write a euology for each.
If you can't write mine, don't feel bad. It's my fault that you can't, not yours. Just know that for one semester, you made one really cynical bastard laugh while crying. You made me judge, forgive, and accept. You force-fed me beauty and honesty, and when I was ready to throw it all up, you shoved another ladle down my throat. And through the choking, laughing, crying, sighing, shrugging, nodding, agreeing, ridiculing, you showed me living. Thank you.
I want to blow this one out of the water. I want travel deep down to my greatest ugliness, reveal, bounce up to the pinnacle of my good, reveal, and bask in the glory of having moved things.
ReplyDeleteI don’t think about it all the time, but my brain never forgets that we’re dying. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but if I can remember my address—I’m sure as hell not going to forget that everything is decaying and that the only thing we are guaranteed is death.
So I want to move things. I want to be remembered, not necessarily on a broad scale, but in a high impact sort of way. I’m sure some first thoughts are that I’d prefer to shake, even if that means in a painful way, just to be recognized—those thoughts are reasonable, but not accurate. The time after my head is on the pillow, but before slumber, is so long and dreadful for me because I dwell on the nicks and cuts I’ve left.
Scars are immortal and hugs don’t leave a mark—wtf? Corny, true, and sad.
I earnestly fear that I may be Bad. The men who flew planes into buildings thought they were good. The men in Auburn’s ROTC program think they are good. Hitler thought he was good. Every villain is someone’s hero, and vise versa...and that truth has damned me to a life of hell. Good and Bad are relative and decided by perspective. I can’t be explained because there are two very opposing forces within myself; both real, both me.
I see. I’m aware. I don’t breathe with my mouth open. And because I see, I’m responsible. I knew this class blog could be important…and try to appreciate what that word means. I needed it, and I knew you did too. Not because I knew you, but because I’ve explored myself so thoroughly that I’ve come close the Universals. I’m not speaking of my intellect. I talking of narcissism so vehemently pursued that I surpassed me and got to Everyone. We need connection, and less observed by most, we need the process of connecting. Our friends stimulate in a way that can’t be matched, but in a static method. It’s in the beginnings and endings that development occurs. Another reason the blog needed to matter was that I was lonely. I’m surrounded by people, but knowing that my last day at Auburn was coming suggested a futility in relationship. Only pain could be acquired, and god help the daughters and sisters if I became aware of more pain. (Side note: Nothing that bad has happened in my life. My pain is a sort of dramatization…a thing that I so strongly believe I should be experiencing, that I do).
ReplyDeleteI gotta smoke. I’d take my computer outside but it’s from the early 90’s and its battery dies in less time than I’m good for with a woman…needless to say, I can’t finish the rest of this post in 12 to 16 seconds ;)
I’m back and typing with cold fingers. Also, I had to small talk with someone so the following will all be dumber that the previous.
ReplyDeleteI said I’m responsible because I can see. I said we needed the forum to matter. I said I want to move things. Those are the “why” behind the infamous “Shooting Match” blog post. I thought we were selling short. We were the girl with a guy that makes other people say, “When a hottie like that is with a guido like that, I can’t believe that justice exists”. I knew that I was complicit and I knew that we needed to be moved to intimacy. We are intimate, but I failed. I thought the post, the creation of a common enemy, would galvanize the rows that aren’t the far left one. I am sad that Josh didn’t fire back, and especially because of his post that day—too talented and loving to be a mat. I know that when I get “real” things happen. I know that there is a vortex in my chest that is mysterious and powerful…and it was irresponsibly created. Whether God or life has made me into the beast that I am, it was a mistake. I should be a ditch-digger. I was right about things happening, but I was wrong about the effect I’d have. Maybe the honesty helped others be honest, and maybe seeing Dr. P stand up for you created a necessary sense of safety, but it was still a failure. I know that we lost people. Some of us have been into this and some of us haven’t. And there is no doubt in my mind that a portion of the uninterested, consciously or subconsciously, made their decision that day. I robbed both us and them of what we needed. I feel like I’m walking around in a doctor’s coat, thinking I’m a doctor, opening people up like I’m a doctor—only to squeeze and feel their insides with infected hands. I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry. And I’m scared. I don’t know how to move forward. This always happens and even though I know that it just happened again, I haven’t really learned anything. I want to be close so badly, but I need to stay far.
I’m back and typing with cold fingers. Also, I had to small talk with someone so the following will all be dumber that the previous.
ReplyDeleteI said I’m responsible because I can see. I said we needed the forum to matter. I said I want to move things. Those are the “why” behind the infamous “Shooting Match” blog post. I thought we were selling short. We were the girl with a guy that makes other people say, “When a hottie like that is with a guido like that, I can’t believe that justice exists”. I knew that I was complicit and I knew that we needed to be moved to intimacy. We are intimate, but I failed. I thought the post, the creation of a common enemy, would galvanize the rows that aren’t the far left one. I am sad that Josh didn’t fire back, and especially because of his post that day—too talented and loving to be a mat.
I know that when I get “real” things happen. I know that there is a vortex in my chest that is mysterious and powerful…and it was irresponsibly created. Whether God or life has made me into the beast that I am, it was a mistake. I should be a ditch-digger. I was right about things happening, but I was wrong about the effect I’d have. Maybe the honesty helped others be honest, and maybe seeing Dr. P stand up for you created a necessary sense of safety, but it was still a failure. I know that we lost people. Some of us have been into this and some of us haven’t. And there is no doubt in my mind that a portion of the uninterested, consciously or subconsciously, made their decision that day. I robbed both us and them of what we needed. I feel like I’m walking around in a doctor’s coat, thinking I’m a doctor, opening people up like I’m a doctor—only to squeeze and feel their insides with infected hands. I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry. And I’m scared. I don’t know how to move forward. This always happens and even though I know that it just happened again, I haven’t really learned anything. I want to be close so badly, but I need to stay far.
ReplyDeleteI’m on the precipice of who I am. I want to be good, I want to accomplish what I want to accomplish, and I want to be a hero. In addition to plotting my ascension to hero-hood, I’m taking five English courses, working, fulfilling the requirements of probation, masking my pain-due-to-leaving, and I can’t even drive. Everything’s falling, or I’m falling and everything else isn’t. Either way the seams are splitting and beneath the charisma and looks there is the greatest crisis of Wilson. Amidst all of this I’ve dedicated my time and energy to our class above all else. Tomorrow I’ll take an exam worth 20% of my grade. The exam is in a class covering Shakespeare’s works, and comparing them to retellings. I haven’t read one of the retellings. This is relevant because I spent Friday night working on material for this class that could have only required an hour. I spent last night partying with my composition classmates instead of prancing around with a feminist Ophelia. And today, hours before the 8am exam, all I can think about it this class. I am invested.
ReplyDeleteBut, as if I actually believe this, that’s enough about me.
To the couple of you who’ve messaged me--thank you. I’ve read our correspondence a few times, especially the compliments and indictments, and I’m trying to be affected by them. To Josh—please fire back at the Wilson’s. You’re made in a way that allows you to communicate love…I don’t really know of a better compliment. To Martha—your chattiness made me into a better morning person than I am, but it was the growth in your posts that matters. It may sound like I’m patronizing you, but I think you’re kind of the mascot for the blog: full of talent all along, initially timid, and at last, honest. And you know what? We love you.
ReplyDeleteAnd that my friends and enemies, is what the fuck this was about. That is why honesty needed to happen—at any cost. We need to be convinced that the real us is loved. So many compliments and extensions of love fall on numbness because we know that they are being given to something that we have created. Hair compliments don’t permeate the heart of a wig wearer, the second glance doesn’t count in a push-up, and “I love you” is chatter in the ears of an avatar. I don’t believe anything anyone says, but I believe you. When you say I’m arrogant, I actually believe it. When you say I can write, I actually believe it.
I guess I could have just said: Martha’s a naked mascot and her body kicks ass.
I can't write pages about this class, because I don't have the patience. I learned more than I could have hoped. When I was writing my blogs before I came to the party the other night, I realized just how much I've come to respect and appreciate you, each for different reasons.
ReplyDeleteDr. P, you were always hospitable, even when I wasn't sure if I agreed with the way you were teaching or the way we were learning.
The rest of you, I'm glad to know that there are other people out there who are willing to stretch themselves. I learned to love the ways that each of you think, even when I disagreed. Even when you pointedly tried to challenge me.
It excites me to know that there are people who see through the walls that I put up. It means everything to me to know that there are people out there like me. People who see through the bullshit, who call it what it is, and then challenge themselves and others to say things that don't fall in that category.
Wilson, I think I get you in ways that I can't express. I don't think you've missed it, and I hope that it's not arrogant of me to think that I know you. I love that when you write, I think of Whitman, and how he so often translated the universe for the rest of us. I needed to be challenged, and I needed to be reminded how much I care. I had someone (not you) step on my face this semester and tell me that I didn't, and for a while, I believed him. You struck a chord in me that day, and I didn't know why. But I realize it's because you reminded me of how much people mean to me.
That means something.
Josie, your writing is beyond words. There's something heart wrenching in your stories, and something loving in the way that you speak about things. I always make it to the end of your posts. (I love the Trapeze Swinger)
Courtney, thank you for being truly honest. You helped me know that it was okay to say all the things that I wanted to say.
Trillium. I liked you best when you were telling me stories, and when I felt you were freed in your writing. Please keep making new friends. I don't think we're ever done with that.
for the nostalgic heart that sometimes checks to see if there are 31 comments instead of 30, I miss you. I wrote a blog-post called "Hooks". The address is on my facebook, and the post wasn't written with us specifically in mind, but because you're here, I think that you'll get it. It wasn't written with us specifically in mind, as i said, but god damn does it fit.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad Wilson beat me to the wall because now I don't feel like such a dork for coming back to it.
ReplyDeleteI miss you, too.
Something happened to me in this class. It's too many words,and thoughts, and seconds to put into a comment, but it happened.
My blog is testimony to that. In 2009, I wrote maybe 6 blogs. And before august of 2010, I had only written two. And after, I've written about 50, even if they aren't all on there, I still wrote them.
You made me braver than I really was, and louder.
I don't know if I'm any better at writing, but at least I'm not walking on my tipy toes out of habit so much. And my feet aren't bruised...And neither is my heart.
Dr. P posted those pictures, and I stared at them a long time. This wasn't weird, it was sentimental. And I laughed that we fit so well together, all of us, weird, and quiet, and loud, and awkward, at first sitting, hands in lap, or around a bottle on the couches...and an hour later, huddled together around a table, and an hour later, lying on top of one another on a couch, and an hour later, telling stories, and smoking cigarettes, and blowing white puffs of breath or smoke that would eventually mesh together above our heads.
I go back there sometimes because we were of the same kind. I go back there, well, because where else have I to go to have those conversations, and typed secrets, and open confessions?
hopefully, and I am an optimist, there are more of you in the future.
I'm back. I can't imagine a situation in which you'd be surprised-- and i'll be long-winded, too, so it's just like old times.
ReplyDeleteI miss you all. My life has changed since I last spoke with you, and that unnerves me, and I want you to know about it. In the simplest terms: I got bangs, and I've been working my ass off this summer since I barely made it through the school year financially, and I've been swimming a couple hundred laps a week (which the doctors said I wouldn't do) and I've been trying my best to be honest with other people and myself (which I said I'd never do). Through a series of almost unbelievable good connections I'm writing a book, and it's fucking hard. I was sitting at a traffic light on my way to this guy's house to interview him, and i'm gnawing at the plastic packaging with the tape recorder I've just bought (you wouldn't believe how they pack those things) and I'm late, and I almost just called him to tell him "you realize I'm a fucking idiot, right? and I don't know what the hell I'm doing, and I'm a shit writer, and you really ought to find someone else to try to tell the story you're trying to tell", but I didn't. And maybe it's because I'm getting paid. Or maybe it's because you pushed me towards that cliff a little already, and what's one more step going to hurt?
When I first looked back on this class, I realized my biggest mistake almost immediately-- I talked too much about myself. Even in this last post, I missed the point entirely. I was so taken with your dedications to each other, after the fact-- your shout-outs, your reflections about what you'd learned from each other. They were what touched me most. I want to fix my mistake, now, and I hope it matters even though it's late-- maybe because it's late-- that after six months I can sit down and say this is what you meant to me. I am so sorry I didn't say it sooner.
Martha Lee Anne: I love you for getting brave and staying that way. Your blog is astounding. You were so quiet and wonderful and sweet in class, and now you're wonderful and sweet and a little louder, and thank God for it, because you're noise the world needs to hear.
ReplyDeleteTrill: I love you for letting me come sit and eat sno-biz behind the counter with you during your work hours. I love you pursuing me relentlessly, and texting me even though I suck at texting back, and telling me your hilarious stories and accepting and encouraging my faith because you know the way I see it, and that doesn't seem so strange to you.
Christi: I love you for sitting on the floor at Trillium's and laughing about this class and the ridiculous things we were willing to reveal in it. I love you for loving God and talking about that, because you reminded me of how important that is and how vibrant it makes people. You showed me faith and art could co-exist, and they could inspire each other.
Courtney: I love you for always being happy to see me, and for making me laugh, and for coming to my Bible study spring semester and being radically honest about your life. I love you for making me speechless with your insight. I am humbled by you-- and I think you're wonderful in ways I can only admire from a distance.
Sara: I love you for being so unbelievably cool all the fucking time, and for being just the kind of woman I'd like to be, and for laughing with me in the kitchen at Dr. P's and just getting all the things I was trying to say. I'd like to be you when I grow up, if that's okay.
Josh: I love you for being my friend in O'Connor, and letting me talk about this class incessantly. You taught me that I should be kinder to others, because it can so truly rock their world on any given day, and so many days you rocked mine-- thank you for that.
Wilson: I love you for not being weird when I told you I loved you the first time, and for facebook messaging me from Valencia sometimes, and for telling me some truths about your life and being willing to avoid talking about the kind of weird place I have in my heart for you. Thank you for being so nice to me and buying me Starbucks that once-- no barista has ever held a candle.
Kristina: I love you for being so incessantly kind and for loving others the way you did. Thank you for always stopping to talk to me when we see each other on campus. I am so happy to be around you-- you're a light, and you are so wonderful to behold, and I admire you from afar even now.
Dr. P: I love you for every conceivable thing. I know I wrote you a whole message explaining how wonderful I know you are, but that doesn't even really cover it-- I love you for being a professor I could talk to, and putting up with my whiny shit a lot, and knowing how fragile I was-- how fragile I still am-- and always being gentle with me. I love you, really, for loving the things I love, if only because I love them. It's backwards and a really fucked up sentence, but it's the best way I know how to explain it.
This is what I should have said to you all: you're brilliant, and I learned from you, but I loved you in ways that were sometimes difficult for me to handle, much less express. Those series of moments at our class party-- from the couches to the kitchen table to the one couch all together, just like Martha Lee Anne said-- have imprinted themselves on me. I sat in my room after all of it was over, after I'd driven a drunk Wilson home and watched him walk unsteadily to his back door, and I thought about you all. I should have told you. I'm glad I got the chance.
Love,
Josie
Maybe it's because others have come back and posted already. Maybe it's because Dr. P pulled this up the other day and just about made me cry. Maybe it's just cause I'm a little drunk right now and I need something happy to obsess about. Whatever the reason, I've decided to afflict anyone who's still reading with another post.
ReplyDeleteIt's not longer four months later, it's more like ten now, and yet, this class above all others lingers with me. I miss it - I miss Dr. P up there, getting us to talk and tricking us into learning every time, I miss Kristina and Tiffanee with their bouncy happiness, Martha Lee Anne with her quiet, shy, smile, the boys over on the other side of the room who were collectively the class clowns yet could become so serious sometimes. I miss Josie who day after day challenged the things I said and made me examine the holes in my arguments, Wilson with his coffee-spiked-whiskey, and Josh, always so sweet - especially the day he walked Wilson out to go blow his nose. I miss it all. But most of all, I miss the brutal honesty.
We live in a society that doesn't encourage us to be honest - with ourselves or with others - and some of us can live like that, but there are others of us who it kills. And for once, I was in an environment where I was not only encouraged but required to be brutal. For once, we had to tell the things that we hide, to spill our guts, to put something on paper and say "this is mine; this is me, please don't scoff at it." And you know what? Sometimes people DID scoff at it. Sometimes we said hurtful things about each other - sometimes the thing we had put out there deserved having those things said about it. But it was OK. The worst our fragile writer-egos could imagine happened, and we all survived. And we became better writers for it. And, through that hard process, we became a group. And maybe, that's what I truly miss - I miss having a community that I can write in, but not for. Some of us have remained friends, some of us have gone on in our separate directions, but all of you have a piece of me that no one else does. All of us have seen each other in some of our most vulnerable ways, and learned that being vulnerable wasn't so awful - cause people weren't as heartless as we thought, and we were stronger than we thought. So for that, I am thankful. I am thankful to Dr. P above all, but I’m also thankful to each of you, cause what’s the point of putting yourself out there if no one cares to see it? What’s the point of caring if no one else is putting themselves on the line?
P.S. Josie made me post this without editing it later when I'm in a state of not-drunk.
I lost my jump drive at work today (GASP! you mean, like "work" work? Yes. An English major got a real job that isn't at Starbucks!), so I'm searching high and low for all the writing I did in college. This was stop number 1. The real world sucks. I miss this.
ReplyDelete-Robert aka "Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, this is Robert Irwin, how may I assist you today?"
Still reading
ReplyDeleteI came back to read all of you tonight. I was feeling nastalgic, and I had a feeling that more of you had come back. I think I might always come back here, as long as it stays anyway.
ReplyDeleteI started writing a book a little after this class ended. I've been writing it now for almost two years, and I am only almost at 50 pages. Some months I stare at it, and I'm unsure of what I'm doing, and other months I see it all so clearly that I want to quit school and life and sit at my writing desk and create something someone wants to read.
But the point is that I'm writing anything at all.
I ask people all the time, "if you could go back to any age, what age would you go back to?" It seems like a stupid question, but if you can't remember anything you want to go back to, well, did you ever really live? If there's nothing in the past, what does that mean? I have a lot of past that I would go back to, a lot of friends, and memories, and stories, that I'd relive in a heartbeat. And you all, my friends, are one of them.
That's all. I'm sure I'll be back in a year or so and I'll write something more mooshy than this.
love you.
Every so often, I revisit this blog and reminisce about the class that changed my life. Did I ever tell you all that my greatest goal at the beginning of that long-ago school year was to tie-up loose ends so I could leave Auburn? It was. Something changed; a lot of things changed - in happy ways, sad ways, and just about everything in-between - and most of them are inexplicable even in my own head. What I can say definitively though, is that it changed in that class.
ReplyDeleteTrue to the English Major stereotype, I work a job completely unrelated to my degree, and will probably die old and decrepit before I actually pay off my college debt. But, every penny is worth it, and I'd pay it all again just to be able to be a part of this one class.
Sometimes, I run into one of you in town - either because you haven't left yet, or because like tired children we all come back to our alma mater eventually (I used to scoff at that term "soul mother," how true I now realize it is) - and it makes me happy. Regardless of how long it's been, our surface differences, or what each of us is doing now, it's like finding a piece of my life I'd forgotten I left somewhere. I hope you are all well. I miss you. I miss your stories, your discussions, your drunken outbursts. But mostly, I just miss you people.
2017.
ReplyDeleteI'm a registered dietitian who works with women of all ages with eating disorders. In other words, I get to walk into the dark and hold someone's hand and tell them about the light just on the other side of the door. Don't doubt for a minute that we have the same conversations that are written here.
I have a one year old son- and he's the most beautiful and amazing blessing. He looks just like me most days, and he thinks I'm funny. And I know how to pause and soak him up, and how to write about it in my journal.
I'm leaving my marriage because it wasn't a healthy one. My family and friends are proud, but it's shaken my foundation in a number of ways. It's too personal to share more, but I'm in the process of rebuilding.
Sometimes, I want to think this class was a dream or that it didn't really matter- but the fact that I can read these post today and they are still relevant says a lot about a lot. I think that's the true beauty in finding yourself- you always know where to go when you get lost.
So thank you for leaving your little towers and fires and lights behind here. I'm like a moth drawn to the flame, and it's nothing but encouraging and warm to read the words of real people I knew once.
Love