Another Quarter Has Come and Gone

I have finished another quarter of my Masters’ Degree in English! Go me! 15 hours down, 18 to go. Oh, and my evil plans are flourishing in the realm of Literature scholarship. But before I talk about that, let me tell you about my day…
Today was absolutely horrible. It started out okay, though. I woke up and studied for my finals while eating Cheeriosâ„¢ and telling my pet bird to be quiet. I am terrible at memorization, but I swear, by the time I left the house, I had all the Brontë children’s birth orders all sorted out. Again, I swear.

So I get in my tiny car and head towards Ruston, LA. Fortunately, I was an hour early. Why fortunately, you may ask? Because I was hardly outside of West Monroe city limits when an alarming buppita-thwapthwapthwap noise attacked the rear driver’s side of my Mazda Miata. As far as I know, Miatas are not supposed to go “buppita-thwapthwapthwap,” and because I knew for certain that my rear tires were older than rear tires have any right to be, I had a suspicion as to the cause. I pulled over and phoned for help, and a good thing too, because while the Miata comes equipped with a cute little toy jack and spare donut tire, it does not come with a cute little toy tire iron to go with it. Or perhaps it did, in 1991, when the car was made. I have no evidence one way or the other.

The greatest husband in the world (at least today – hee hee hee!) quickly arrived, but not before I had attracted the attention of some very country guy in a very useful looking truck, who was also very good at making me nervous, and incidentally, possessed no tire iron either. He did seem to enjoy digging around in my trunk without my permission, however.

So James (http://www NULL.ambardia drove the Miata back to work, due to the fact that it is sporting both a donut spare and another very potentially ribbony rear tire. I drove James (http://www NULL.ambardia‘ Honda to Tech and took my final exam. And made complete hash of the stupid fill-in-the-blanks part about the damn birth order of the Brontë children, which was such a huge part of the exam that it might make me have a “B” on the exam that is 30 freaking percent of my grade.

This really pisses me off, because basically, on the stupid “matching” and “fill-in-the-blanks” sections of both exams we have taken, I sucked, but on the essays I have done “very very good” and “exceptional” (Professor’s words). Hello! I’m a fucking academic! We don’t memorize things! We fucking make note cards! Case in point: I did shitty on the assinine matching and blank parts of his exam, but this professor is recommending that my research paper be presented at the “grad conference” in spring (whatever that may be) and that with a little work it might be publishable. He also said that the PhD track is “definitely the right one” for me. So why, why, why, must I memorize dates and crap? Okay, sure, when I teach literature I will attempt to have any dates I use memorized, but every teacher I know teaches from notes anyway. If you’re reading this, and you’re a teacher, and you don’t need notes, well, you’re just better than I am – what can I say?

Of course, I am certain I am in the wrong here, because I am just pissed off that I got so flustered that I jumbled up my brain contents. But that’s just how my brain works. I can interpret things that follow from other concepts, but memorizing the order of things or other “arbitrary” facts is just difficult for me. Also, I’m pissed that I have to spend my money on new tires instead of going to Shreveport to see my friend Jason. That was my reward for being a good girl all through the quarter and actually getting things done on time and only procrastinating a little bit.

Now I don’t get a reward. Now I get new tires. I could pretend they were a reward, but it isn’t the same. I always get sick when I get new tires because I have to sit in the tire store for so long while waiting for them to put the tires on and the smell of the tires always makes me sick. Then I feel like crap for the rest of the day and I can’t even buy myself a sugary frozen drink or anything because I’m so poor from buying stupid new tires.

Ultimate verdict: End of Quarter = yay, Bad Tires = boo, Fact I’m still alive despite driving on bald tires for months and months = yay, No Shreveport trip = boo.

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