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.
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.
The day went as it went. I didn’t go to the hospital for the analyses and slept enough for me. After the delicious breakfast all the morning before the lessons I prepared for those lessons. I found out my mind map of the lectures quite useful. And basically I’m ok with studying process, it’s fun, it’s like a game. I used the lazy quick writing of all I know on the paper. Helpful tool.
I was late and came into the class while the teacher was reading the list. At the beginning it was ok, we pronounced the exercises, then there was a control on the topic I prepared in the morning, so basically it was ok. But then we started that terribly long and boring process of checking other people’s tests. That was so tiresome. At the lunch break, I ate fast at the small canteen full of the local student. I never felt so different from them. I could even perceive their small town mentality.While sitting there I came to the idea that we all suppose something for future, but future is nothing without now. Nothing will change in the future if it doesn’t change now. Why people look at me that way when I cross the corridor?
Why people look at me that way when I cross the corridor? A talk with the law student made me feel so strange. So surprise! He offered to come to the cinema club and moreover he knows the local theatre director. Something strange happens. I easily speak to people and they believe that I know things I speak about. That law student was so surprised by the fact I watched Citizen Kane.
Language history lecture went boring for most of those zombie-students who write every single word. As for me, there wasn’t much information but I was for some reason inspired. Maybe it’s my thoughts on Arzamas as the great new educational format which makes me think of associations. And it pushes my mind. Associations are the great tool for learning. Actually, we do all thinking by associations unconsciously. So I’m going to attach all the information to the things I already know. I’m going to think in a way: what does it remind me of? What do I have already know about this? etc. That’s obvious but so efficient.
I am sitting in a great shock and misunderstanding. This was the second day of study and the second portion of rubbish. Even yesterday I found out myself being sick of the road, people, the building full of the students and teachers. That’s just a quintessence of the local culture: girls have a dialect, wear mass market fashionable clothes and have a negative view on studying. The lecturers shocked me by reading the lecture from the list to be rewritten in the student notebooks. WHAT?! The teacher of the basic English shocked me by her robotic approach. Nothing matters but the lesson plan and the lecture in the textbook. I felt like a prisoner on her lesson today.
The teacher of the basic English shocked me by her robotic approach. Nothing matters but the lesson plan and the lecture in the textbook. I felt like a prisoner on her lesson today. I couldn’t believe she asks us to read, reread and translate the utterly easy text. We spend on it the whole double lesson.
The other thing is note-taking. Since I started to make mind maps instead of linear notes I had noticed that they repeat everything million times, make it slow and even slower to let the other student write every single word into the A5 notebook. The lecture seems complicated but it’s really simple. It becomes a pile of stones in their mind instead of the harmonic picture.
And yes, the freshmen are kinda not prepared for the University level. And the university itself lowered their level too. So, the education is just a fiction here. Lectures sound complicated, though it’s easy, students are ready to obey and sit silently while the diploma is promised. The teachers are the same kind of people as the students are. Both don’t really understand the purpose of such fuss as education.
As someone said, there must be three (or more) top Universities in the country and the other must be just really good ones. Equally good ones. But now I can see the wide gap between top and the other ones. Those are two different worlds what don’t touch each other at all. That’s odd.
I think to call to the institute and ask about the documents. Fanny isn’t it? That’s the comedy of life. And it laughs out loud.
P.S. It’s the worst sense – the sense of yourself being the cleverest student in the room.
I overslept for a half of an hour and did exercises in a rush instead of a jog. Mom boiled some porridge for us and we had breakfast together in the sunny kitchen. During the road through the chip district, my head was light and empty, the same continued when I entered the University without paying any attention to the crowd of young applicants in front of the gym. While the exam passport was given I interacted with a girl who was coming to the English exam too. In spite of her medical background, she seemed boring – who does the cheat sheets before the very exam? We were sitting in the empty auditorium for about fifteen minutes in total boredom. I had managed to notice the leak in the ceiling, construction of the tables (which weren’t tables but the composition of iron balks and countertop), newness and the cheapness of the building. I’d noticed the silly phrases hand written on the table. Twice I was recognized as a teacher.
Then the woman came in and for more ten minutes set the equipment. The papers she gave us were surprisingly familiar. That was the first option on the site I used. Some answers were familiar even before the listening. The critical moment was speaking as I remember that there needed a structural answer but I hadn’t rehearsed any answers at all. I did some mistakes while speaking and heard it. After that boring process, I returned to writing. I rewrote three paragraphs about space. That seemed more or less interesting. After completing all the papers I got out of that cold chip auditorium.
The Institute and this University have in common bad new construction – painted walls and new doors, but they are the same impersonal and cold. You know, organizations built something new because of the pure need, and in this necessity very often makes them neglect aesthetics. After a few years, such building starts being and looking like unpleasant woodshed with broken parts but still able to work on the main purpose. Like an ugly loo.
There is a plenty of things I could reflect on after that exam. The main was the same. “What do I do? I’m not going to be a linguist and work on an employer. ”
Hot weather makes us all feel dizzy and unconscious. It was a great idea to swim at the pool after lunch.
It’s not only raining today but it’s darkening with every hour. I can see it through the window. The whole day I am sitting with the history book, laptop, and cup of tea. Honestly, my mind is rather full of new ideas and some anxiety than the laser focus on the twenty century’s events. That’s why I still struggle with the lack of concentration and understanding. It seems even hopeless now. I feel weak when I want to say “It’s too much for me! I’m sick of history”.
My page at the notebook with the plans for August is almost full. At the finish line, all thoughts are about post exams time. I want some emotional relief after that. Maybe it seems strange to hear, but the main reason for the emotional burnout is my unexpected desire and some ideas for the paintings and more. The last notes at the notebook all are the IDEA ones. The other desire is simple and trivial one – earn money.
One of my coursemates is having a vacation at the seaside abroad. Surely, I could be envy about it but as it was said to my mom “I could make up the better way to spend that money”. I mean education and the development. No vacation while I don’t have a proper professional position and some real constant profits. It isn’t time for enjoying the benefits, it’s time for raising them.
But this evening we actually are going to watch something and go to bed early as we both are tired of such weather and routine.
This is the smell of spring everywhere. Those are the dried roads and mild air.
It was hard but possible to push myself out of the bed today. There were calm, yellow sky and no cars on the streets. Someway I got myself going to the institute and even be in time for the first and most important lesson, history. Instead of immersion into the 17 century’s passions, we were waiting for the teacher who set the projector – the first time for a year. Margo shown us the pretty fun app were poetry’s parts were to be transformed into emojis. We tried to remember the classical poem and couldn’t retrieve particular words. Then the lesson went a bit worse than usual though I comprehended it was a chance to remember the pre-historic material.
I felt tired as physically as emotionally. There is always one more day out I need. And a cup of cheap coffee doesn’t help crucially to refresh. However, I had some willpower to paint a canvas before the very dinner. At the canteen it was strange to begin with an odd talk with the animators then come to talk with Mary about cakes and then listen her chatting with cinema scholar who is (as I can assume now) is a boozer. When she speaks I discover what kind of drunkard lifestyle a lot of residents has. It saddens me a bit but makes picture clear – it’s not my company.
The rest of the day I forced myself to stay working in spite of harsh vulgar talks around. I had been to go since half to three but finished that all to the formal end.
This is so wonderful but nervous to run through the wet street to the lesson and try to keep up with the small talk about nothing. I hurried but the moment I turned to the audience it was clear – nobody can enter the class. There was small but pleasant talk with cinema scholars and other girls – what a great choice for talking! Then it was a mistake to sit with the same girls I went there. But OK, I let other people enjoy talking to the teacher and discussions. Not all have Saturday’s lessons.
The content was great as usual, with lots of contradictions and topics for reflection or deeper research. Sometimes it seemed hard to catch the red thread but I tried to make such exercises. And there is nowhere to go without the mind lapse when I feel a vacuum in my head which gradually transforms into the images. The magic of thinking. As fast as the lecture had ended and the teacher was ready to discuss something hugely interesting I had to go downstairs.
There was the class of non-Russian speaking people who was to study the language. The small chaotic room with the little blackboard and mess of papers in the cupboard. The female teacher cried loudly as it was an audience for fifty students. There were some evident foreigners as Chinese and Uzbek, and some unrecognizable persons looked like Bulgarian. Two Americans. There were too active and noisy, the study wasn’t effective (to my opinion – little constructive explanations). I tried to focus on the translating pre-intermediate level sentences. I realized that I usually work at the good environment for concentration and don’t have a habit of working in bothering surroundings. But I did my best allegedly it was a serious task. (I often make silly mistakes)
Sitting in the canteen with the girls and eating my noodles with chicken I had already felt exhausted. The effect of efficiency. But it was the painting which was on the agenda else. The workshop had a diffused spirit when I came. The regular, habitual movements with the hands and brushes. Some moments it seemed endurable, some – terribly boring. As it eats up my life. After two highly focused hours, I decided to go away and did so. There is no need to suffer and loaf around the workshop.
The neighbor can come today but I don’t worry at all.
Finally, a pretty quiet evening with the mask for my face and some tea.
Yesterday evening the time when my next door neighbour shouldn’t come it was the neighbour of my room who went so unexpectedly. She did so before at the midnight when I and mom were sleeping early to go to the airport the next day. That was totally terrible. Yesterday it was eight o’clock – thank for that. I had known that she is a cinema scholar and basically happy to have studied here. As she said: it’s very specific school. And her rustling packets filled the little table I used as a dressing table again. The rest of the evening I couldn’t focus on my reading (for mastery) and diverted to the observations. At one level I tried to pursue myself in reasonability of keeping doing my business at the other level it was evident that it’s a chance to become a bit more familiar to each other, but the third idea grounded on the first bad experience and desire to live alone asserted me to be no more than formal and living my own life. I wanted to go to sleep early as got tired by two busy days. I read an article, worn the earplugs and sleeping mask, and the whole two or three hours of light on made unlucky attempts to sleep. I heard the noises and thought that it’s the way she wants me to treat her in the morning. In the student hostel, you are treated as you treat. The whole night I struggled with the whirl of ideas in my mind but mostly unsuccessfully.
At the morning with no excuses, I did my exercises and the rest of the morning routine. My heart was unusually disquieting, though. The damming loud sound of cinema about the World War two didn’t help to put me together and write something. All people around seemed freaks which I did not want to mix with. The terrible feeling of the ugly duckling and boredom of society. Strange, but in a moment I turned out from the idea of socializing to the comfort zone where I can mull over the life.
The films were interesting at some points but all were frozen and annoyed with the grieve and suffering at the screen. I was happy to warm up at the canteen where I took a real coffee and enjoyed the sunshine. Then the unpleasant and oddly unfriendly stir with the receipts. (some people still have Soviet mentality).
Usually, I do like lectures on cinema history but today it seemed so little and boring that I did notes only because of the forthcoming exam. My mind couldn’t focus a long time and regularly asked me for an aspirin. The weakness of body and spirit which I use as a justification of my closed nature. I just cannot fake an interest many times. This is why it was a great relief to see that there was no real mastery lesson but easy discussion of the detectives. Margo makes me smile – she is so young, pretty and easy-going that I feel the same besides.
At the hostel, allegedly there was nothing to do I just ate Hermann and watched the late show episode. Things which make my heart a bit lighter. Finally, I don’t have to rueful, I can be myself though it means some openness in order of study and talks.