It’s a pattern, less you write (draw, learn) less you want to start doing it again. But someday I must to return and do it like there was no time gap.
This morning I was in rush, again I overslept extra thirty minutes and had to get ready faster and without proper exercises. Surely, I was a bit crushed. I reviewed my report on the bus and reviewed it again and again during the workshop itself. There was stuffy air in a room, and I got a headache. Everybody was badly reading a text from a list while I was looking through a narrow crack in the blinds. It was snowing outside. When it was my turn I did all the same as usual. But this time I found out problems in my speaking skills, it was hard to connect ideas with each other. Linking phrases simply fell out of my head. And, speaking critically, the content was scarce though I really tried to tell about Alexander Pope’s core ideas. Then I took another report, John Milton this time.
After a short compulsory lecture, I went home. Lately, I have a strange situation with books. As I finished “Why art cannot be taught” many self-help books appeared on my phone. There are about three of them and all are wishy-washy. But I need something of such kind now.
Today is one of those drawling days of Autumn when everything is highly repulsive. I didn’t want to go to the lecture but force myself because of the gathering after. The streets were filling with snow, more and more snow every minute. The houses became cold and distant, the view out of the trolley-bus blurred. All the way to and fro I tried to clean my mind and got a view.
At the cloakroom, an attendant refused to take my hat and a boy beside twice grabbed it to try. I couldn’t stand it and emotionally and unwillingly cried something like “Why people are so wild here?”. The boy answered, “It’s university”. Rubbish isn’t it. At the back benches of an auditorium, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. During the lecture on local history, I was forcing myself not to yawn.
She was talking about roots and the idea that finally, we must know the tribe we behold. Another time I found out that it’s not that evident to me to attach my own self to the idea of tribe. Even when she asked about belonging to the certain district I had no instinct to raise a hand. Strange.
There is the danger to fall down to little depression, there is an abyss full of potential triggers for sadness. I looked through apartments, houses, draw a bit (which helps a lot). The evening is good.
When the mist is soaked with the gingerness of light and black lines of the naked trees. It’s a mystery spilled around the streets. Romantic light of busy roads with a crowded transport full of tired and ugly people.
The day was stressful, tiresome and boring. The first lesson we were just sitting in the class and making English. I felt devastated even then. The misty view of the dormitory suburbs and the sound of the saw. I took a cup of cappuccino before the lesson and talked a bit with the girls. A tender street cat came to us gently. At the English, I was amazingly worrying about my reading and did it without an inner pressure. I simply could see those poems no more. And then when it came to the words I’d already been too overwhelmed for conscious learning. However, after the lesson and quick lunch at the canteen, I run to the library to do Russian homework. It was calm and secluded.
The next lecture was terribly boring, I couldn’t stop yawning. That was a torture to push yourself to the last lesson. Before that, we were sitting at the other canteen and drunk tea. It was nice to talk, not deep but fine. At the last lesson, we all were passing a test. That was tough, I wanted to close my eyes, to relief shoulder, to stop this dull work. It’s too much for me. At the road to the bus stop, I was talking with a group mate, she seemed me pretty and adequate.
And then there was a mist, with light in the depth of it.
The Sunday has almost finished and it’s a pity. Again there is five days before the next weekend. Tomorrow I will go to Dean’s office to be dissected because of my absence. I will tell that this behavior won’t continue anymore, I will ensure her some way. Maybe there will be their manipulation, pressure on me, tough words, an approach like I’m nobody but a piece of shit and other harsh tricks. It seems to me that it repeats again like I had already had the similar situation. And I actually had at least twice.
I’m tired of languages. Or it’s better to say I’m tired of this type of monotonous, boring, timid study. I feel dead. The Friday’s occasions were the clear signs of the teacher’s unhealthy nature. In parallel, I’ve got that I cannot work for other people at all, I need autonomy and initiation. There is no sense of doing something if I haven’t consciously come to this myself. I’m sick of the system got down from someone ahead. I like to be an initiator of the process (or at least some elements) but not it’s executor.
But I must demand myself firstly. There is no hope, no reliance on the outer world with teachers, systems, and strange people. The only person who is really concerned about my education is me. Nobody cares more.
I haven’t gone for either English or Latin lessons today. At the morning I busied myself with Russian History and contemplating on my letdown. Then at the lunch, I tried to cheer up myself and listened to the comedy talk show. That’s why I lost my time and was late for the Physical Culture. However, I managed to talk to a groupmate and change dress fastly. Then there was a counting of our reaction with numbers and regular jog around the hall. During the intensive running I was talking with Kate, she was worrying about expression she makes on the other group mates. She thought they see her as a monster. I saw no point and voiced silly idea about treating them on the Birthday. How calculating can I be!
Farther we did strange exercises in pairs. My partner spoke out a funny thing: What a natural crab you are! When came to my least favorite activity – volleyball, a man passed to us and started selecting for something. I used an interruption and went to other girls, they were playing badminton. That’s not tennis, but it’s near to it. We played a bit when the trainer came and immediately I was playing with her and girls were playing with each other. I liked it a lot! Yes, I hardly managed to be in time, the speed was much faster, but still, it was something I truly love to play in. (Tennis is better though, and the trainer doesn’t know technique)
Surely, I lightened after the training, mind became clearer and soul got a comfort. That’s what I needed and please, don’t mention English homework!
After yesterday’s occasion with the absence of the majority of the students, I was up to attend the first lecture today (8.20 AM). But I feared to miss the alarm clock so much that I couldn’t sleep until 3 AM. And then, yes, I skipped the first lecture. But the morning was good despite all the strangeness of rehearsing the presentation on my way to the bus stop. (Yes, I speak to myself in English about all those marvelous topics). Today I presented the British Parliament. I was the second presenter. And I must say it was a bit better than the last time, at least I caught the attention of some students (normally nobody listens) and talked almost everything but the numbers by myself, I even improvised. It was short though the topic is huge and very interesting. However, I was satisfied with my presentation.
The rest of the time I couldn’t get what drives me crazy more: boring, impersonal downloaded somewhere presentations of the students or the silent content of the teacher. It is clear that the axis here is the pluses, marks, and exams, not the knowledge. Yes, they probably make the presentation in PowerPoint and print a list of the text (some even highlight is). Yes, they can read it aloud more or less accurate. But if I ask anyone about the content, it’s a crash. There is no comprehension of the subject and what is sadder, there is the complete absence of any interest. It looks like they don’t care to be curious and the teacher doesn’t care to have the curious student (as far as she doesn’t have it by herself).
I read in one long article about education that pupils\students at the modern school rather “busy with school” than with “learning”. How truly it is!
Whatever, I personally got the strategy of being what I want to see in the world (at least I try my best) and not idly complain about everything. I cannot make them understand the value of time and education but I can do it by myself.
The going to the theatre left an odd impression of misunderstanding and social life which seems to submerge again.
I came to the local theatre an hour ahead to redeem the tickets. There were the autumn leafs everywhere and nobody in the hall. My reflection at the glasses was fine, at least I liked it and felt kinda Parisian. The small coffee shop in the calm Sunday trade center welcomed me. For half an hour I spend like a book heroine, reading the tale of Kazuo Ishiguro (who is the winner of 2017 Nobel Prize) and drinking coffee. The forgotten pleasure of reading fiction prose.
When I came back to the theatre there were much more people and a girl with the easel. Waiting for someone at the theatre hall is one of the least joyful things. I even filled in the questionnaire to which options of the favorite local theatres I added Vakhtangov’s. Then I started to speak with the girl by the easel, and evidently, she was from the art college. We had shortly discussed the teachers before Mary came to us. I tried to make a conversation but it cracked. Then she often came to her husband and I had no idea what to do. They seemed to be busy. Afterward, their third person came but he didn’t join our silence as he was eating something. I started to think that Mary was offended by me ( the odd situation with the tickets) but she lively talked about the local artist whose pictures were hung on the walls. The friend of Mary’s husband greeted me and made some jokes as we met before at the Quiz.Please game.
The performance made a really good impression at the beginning. There were two characters who played queer creatures and played them really good. Even at the moments, they weren’t at the focus they played. But after a few stories, the main idea has begun to melt their massages hardly matched. The composition of grounded stories about people and some pathetic temptation to touch “The Sacred Question of Art”. At the end, the artist who appeared from time to time during the whole performance turned the big picture to the audience. Frankly, I expected to see a key for the play but it was a messy unclear drawing which didn’t tell anything.
The talk we had after was full of men’s loud impressions, they got it was rubbish. And partly they were right but not in that expressive way. I found out that it was really hard for me to grasp and answer smartly on the man’s jokes. That was fast and non-straight-forward. (I spend to much time with less clever people). Mary’s husband dropped me at my bus stop.
Mom speaks I became more grumpy and critical. And that’s true. Week by week our Sundays are going the same routine way: cleaning up, washing, shopping around the town, making the dinner and a bath. Every evening of such day my head is spinning like a carousel, full of lights and colours of the shops and TV. TV is the other story, my mom has a habit to watch it the whole Sunday morning. As for me, it makes me feel disoriented and stupid. I like to make exercises at the calm room.
Today I even bitterly complained to mother about this all. I mean the endless necessity to wash up, clean up and buy buy buy. Her response was quite predictable. She said that I need to outsource those tasks to the stuff, which evidently includes earning more money. And that’s true. I’m sick of such a lifestyle! It’s ridiculous to spend a major time on the service for your life but not its essence. So I need to develop which raises the main question.
What is the field for my growth? Recently I often think about coming back to the institute and taking the second part-time education at the theoretical department (at the other University). My preparation for the exams is scarce, I didn’t move at all since the study started. And I’m not naive enough to believe I will be enormously better farther. The other thing I think of is taking IELTS exam as far as I have time for preparation and some opportunity for this (and I need to support the language in the form – University makes me deteriorate). But I’m not sure what path to choose and to apportion my priorities. That’s tricky. But if I need another lifestyle (which I certainly need) there is no way out only through. I must decide.
No matter what intentions I have, my alarm clock has its own vision of my morning. It didn’t work and as a result, I overslept the first lesson. The silly thing is that yesterday evening I spent on the homework but haven’t handed it. No matter. Sun shone bright and I actively thought about the lack of own life last time. I stopped making any notes and watching self-educating videos, and moreover, I feel devastated by the study (though it takes not much time). It just obsesses you. The life again got that home-study mode.
Today we again had basic English and it was so stressful. At the beginning, she spent fifteen minutes on lecturing about our behavior which to my mind was odd. She continued to press on us during the whole lesson. Surely there were again slow translating and her picking us. Students went out for a rest (many has a flue) One moment I really felt the blank page inside my mind, like something utterly stressful, was happening. The same feeling I had at the quest with the actor who played a madman – I couldn’t move at all. There was pretty much the same. After two lessons with this vampire, we all were tired, angry and empty minded. That’s not a deal. Maybe I will try to change the group on Monday.
It looks for me quite terrible – this way of teaching, it’s like she doesn’t have a proper pedagogical education herself. What other reason can be for her ignorance in psychology? I don’t know. It’s a pity to see such “professionals”.
To have some relief I went to McCafe listening Adele’s early songs and repeating after her. There I watched some YouTube videos, relaxed and went home.
I feel that my strength is not enough for getting out of all the complexity of my condition. I’ve been suffering from side to side in hesitation. It’s hard to take steps which are not expected by you, which creates questions and misunderstanding. But I cannot live in a picture which is not certain. The best life I ever had was certain was maybe only on the inner level, but it was. The other thing is a belief in yourself which makes me so active and productive as no certain purpose. When you know you can, you do it like a regular thing, not like something extraordinary.
I must confess that the moment I started reflect on the nature of fulfillment I stopped achieving this. I need an outer hand which picks me and pushes at the moments like this.