This is one of those days when my own flat seems to be a prison of wrong decisions. I oscillate from one activity to another with a constant sadness. OK, it looks like every post of mine is about sadness but in reality, I can be quite satisfied and enthusiastic about my routine. Yesterday, for example, I did some more SS work, went to the swimming pool (and had my own swimming track) and met with Kate (from ChuvSU) and the whole day I felt strong and self-assured.
However, this morning was basically idle and fruitless, then in the afternoon, I tried (not really) to draw that house I started. Such a dull task! I shouldn’t pick it in the first place. At two o’clock I left it the way it was, took my backpack and went to the library. Surprisingly, it wasn’t completely empty, but quite enough to go into study flow. Making a mind map of a pretty simple and more or less straightforward topic I found out a certain mutual connection between generating new technologies and the rise in schooling years. Probably, it’s obvious, but it’s pleasing to find myself.
More I visit MacCafe more I ascertain that it’s not a place for me. There are too many children, parents, and strange looking people. Back at home, I tried to draw the same house with the same success. But simultaneously I listened to a Michael Sandel lecture and students debate about African-American people’s educational opportunities. Such a distant but familiar problem for me (kinda provincial/moscowian problem).
When mom came The Problem arose again like a silent wall or a gigantic pillar. Or at least I felt it that way. The request for my being at some relative anniversary party out of the town, and as a result another review of my pictures to be gifted. The question of me not leaving hometown.
And actually I mull over it more and more, I’m almost persuaded by myself to it. But my game is about getting better not drowning here. I have an acceptable plan for a tired adult craving for education.
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.
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.
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.
The Sun is shining once upon a time. My slowness is all about the preparation or particularly the six days of preparation in a row. I know this all fundamentally good for me but this morning I astonishingly realized that for many years summer time was no more than just a hot time in open shoes. And what is the reason? To say nothing about badly established town’s beaches and parks, which are unchangeable for many years. Every summer I have something to do and that deals obsess me. However, the main reason is not the deals but my strange idea that everyone gets rest, enjoys the life but I still sit over the books and gradually transform into a nerd. That’s what I always was afraid of. And maybe that’s the main reason of feeling strange being at the work table the whole day. Not the summer.
Today is the day of the Republic. It never made me any sense of holiday or whatever. I’ve found the new lecture by Chernigovskya and want to make little shopping.
This kind of days most of us usually got up and see how terribly boring, dim and hopeless life is. The warm light inside doesn’t compensate the dampness and coldness of the weather.
I didn’t come to the history lesson but slept. My slow and thoughtful morning went to the silent being at the workshop. What it was all about? I tried to understand something in the air. It was so similar to all that evening at the college when I looked out the window and imagined different variations of future. In the room, there still were papers and easels standing in the twilight. What a terrible hush of routine! We’re drawing the torso. My pencils are short as someone doesn’t want to buy new ones. At the other corner of the room, there were Vlad and Masha laughing out loud about something unfamiliar. The calmness spread out to the canteen where we got a situation with the headmaster.
The more we were in the workshop the more it became a farce. It was almost physical hardship just drawing the torso once more in this life. I read news about the attack in SPb, texted Nastya, she answered that all was basically normal. I was amazed by her calm approach allegedly such things are normal and all will be covered up.
The English teacher was really friendly to me and gave me an opportunity to continue my way of studying part-time. She took me a task which I am to do before the next Monday. That was so grateful of her.
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.
Yesterday I even didn’t know what to write about if I wanted to avoid all complaints and whining. I don’t like to whine. But the description of the situation in a word such: the atmosphere is quiet friendly, talkative and joyful, but there is no focus on study and the study itself seems vain as well the content of talks. I couldn’t believe that Nastya really showed me her childhood photos allegedly it’s something interesting. It’s easy to look clever and hard to look hearty.
I run out there after the lesson and appreciated me-time as never ever. It’s all like school again – double life, one of which is formal, other is personal. And the concept of being myself isn’t perfect. Yesterday I tried to improve the set as it was evidently badly made. Nastya supported me before the very moment we needed to pursue the teacher who didn’t want to change anything. Everything remained the same though the teacher’s arguments were weak.
I’m happy in the mornings when I feel so fresh and have a few minutes for reading or learning. I shouldn’t drown in this activity but I feel like it affects me in a bad way. There are discreet manners and full-time sense loneliness. And the task is to stay curious, active, friendly and etc. I don’t want to mix with them and spend hours to find a proper key. No thanks. But it’s evidently weird to sit alone.
And the place for relief is a spare time which I can spend on three activities: study, personal life, and preparation for transfer. Each is immense and demand time, power and discipline. And it’s hardly possible to balance all three. Surely, I can just stop sleeping but I know how harmful it is for my abilities and mood. The other option is to score on the major study and focus on minors which are closer to the desired speciality. I don’t know. Or to work on the majors’ task firstly to free the space for real things. I don’t know what I’m here for, what is the reason of mom’s fear.