I don’t think my cowboy boots work like Dorothy’s red spangle pumps and I’ve got to say, that was a little bit unfortunate for me tonight after my poetry workshop.
Kids, I’m feeling a little… well… undereducated. (collective gasp) As many of you know I got through the first oh, I don’t know, NINE YEARS of my education reading novels under my desk. I missed a lot of essential grammar, poetic, you know, stuuuffff… and all of the math and science. ENTIRELY.
So today, I made an ENORMOUS ass of myself when I criticized the use of the word “and” in a SONNET when a: I didn’t manage to identify it as a sonnet, and b: it was clearly there to make the iambic pentameter or whatever work.
That and someone in my class rolled their eyes when I criticized the fact that every line of their poem was capitalized (I HATE THAT).
I’m totally nervous about letting them read my poetry, the writing of which has only picked back up in the last week after a summer of mind numbing socializing. oh god.
I know that I’m going to school to LEARN about this whole poetry writing thing, but I’m used to being the BEST poet in my class (I know that sounds snotty, but it’s true) and now I am CLEARLY not going to hold that position. I don’t want to be the person that people wonder how they got into graduate school on this SHIT that they are writing in the first place. So, yeah. I was cool with graduate school up until today.
How about some Britney to calm your nerves. Britney with Ellen. We love them, remember?
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