Friday, October 26, 2012

Dear diary...

Just kidding.  I never kept a diary.

Even at its high point of popularity, I never really trusted the idea.  I always feared that no matter how amazing the hiding spot or how intricate the locking mechanism, someone would read it.  Maybe it would be my narc of a sister, or my conservative parents, or even worse, my best friend.  Sure, now she knows everything about me, but back then I harbored some pretty intense secrets I wouldn't have trusted her with.

Everyone knows, at that age best friends can turn into worst enemies faster than you could say, "Don't have a cow, man." What if we wore the same outfit on the same day, and as revenge she told my crush about my undying love for him and our future children?  That is merely too much for a fifth grader to take, and I was far too wise to succumb to that kind of travesty.

Writing has always come pretty naturally to me,  I was the girl who crammed out an "A" (ten or more page) paper the night before it was due with little effort. Before you start calling me a bitch under your breath, know that I am math illiterate to compensate.  No seriously, 126 x 12 = orange?

I have always loved to write and even considered majoring in journalism to (hopefully) one day have a career in the field.  However in college, I switched my major twice (hence why I have a double minor) and finally settled on Communications since I was sick of hearing jokes about being in college for 7 years without a P.H.D.

I remember signing up for my first creative writing course Freshman year.  On the first day I thought, "This is it. I finally have it all figured out."  The class started out great.  The weekly assignments were thought inducing, and I really felt I had found my niche. It wasn't until the final week of class that my teacher assigned each of us a song and told us to write a piece regarding our interpretation of the song's meaning.  I was assigned "Warehouse" by The Dave Matthews Band.  Before you judge her song choice, it was the year 2000, and he was still considerably important.  If you still think he is important, you probably also think Patchouli smells good, therefore your opinion is invalid.

Regardless of what the song is actually about, I wrote about what I felt the lyrics meant. I was sure I had nailed this assignment like all the others seeing as to how it was a creative writing assignment and not a research one.  You can imagine my dismay when I received my paper back with a giant, red, "C-" on it.  I stayed after class to question this obvious lack in judgement, and she simply responded with, "That is not what I felt the song was about at all."  I'm sorry but wasn't the assignment for ME to write about what I felt the song was about?  I couldn't fathom how I was being told my personal interpretation was wrong, in a creative writing course nonetheless. She clearly was not Dave Matthews so how the hell could she be so sure of the song's correct content?  Long story short, I went to see her superior to explain my predicament, and I got my "C-" changed to an "A".

I can't even remember her name, but I do remember she was pretty old back then so I'm going to go ahead and assume she is dead by now.  It was because of her, I switched majors; she taught several of the other writing courses at my college, and I didn't want to deal with her again.  A decade later, I have finally returned to my passion. I know, I probably shouldn't have let her get to me, but I was 19 (and my judgement was questionable at best back then).  Looking back, I didn't have it all figured out like I thought. Turns out, the only thing I truly had figured out was my teacher was a bitch.

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