I hate a lot of things right now...
...one of them is graduate school, another is my toaster.
Toaster. Why must you break on the morning I have to get up early to write a paper due at 9:30? I wanted some pancakes and the best way to reheat them is you. When did you turn against me? Because of you I only half-way wrote my paper and then, during class my stomach growled. Loudly. Due to a rather unfortunate circumstances I ended up sitting right next to the teacher, and she heard every growl and rumble. I hate you toaster.
I hate my seminar. I hate writing the papers for it and the in class discussions are murderous. Each day class is held, I dream about dropping. Why don't I? Because I know this is the class I'll learn the most from. But in the meantime, here I am playing the role of the village racist or, on my good days, village idiot. I hate you writing and thinking about difficult subjects.
I hate trees. Actually, I hate my horticulture class. It deals with woody ornamentals' identification; the class is affectionately nicknamed "woodies." Up until this semester I've enjoyed an ignorant love affair with woodie ornamentals most of my life, but now I'm forced to hate them. Friday, when I was riding the bus home I caught myself gazing out the window. This behavior isn't unusual, but instead of the usual mild hum running through my head, I caught myself thinking, "Oh that's Acer x freemanii "Armstrong." No wait. "Armstrong" or "Autum Blaze", it's hard to tell the length and intensity of color of those petioles." I was leaning forward, bumping my head on the window trying to determine these characteristics. I hate you horticulture you make me look like a fool on the bus.
Toaster. Why must you break on the morning I have to get up early to write a paper due at 9:30? I wanted some pancakes and the best way to reheat them is you. When did you turn against me? Because of you I only half-way wrote my paper and then, during class my stomach growled. Loudly. Due to a rather unfortunate circumstances I ended up sitting right next to the teacher, and she heard every growl and rumble. I hate you toaster.
I hate my seminar. I hate writing the papers for it and the in class discussions are murderous. Each day class is held, I dream about dropping. Why don't I? Because I know this is the class I'll learn the most from. But in the meantime, here I am playing the role of the village racist or, on my good days, village idiot. I hate you writing and thinking about difficult subjects.
I hate trees. Actually, I hate my horticulture class. It deals with woody ornamentals' identification; the class is affectionately nicknamed "woodies." Up until this semester I've enjoyed an ignorant love affair with woodie ornamentals most of my life, but now I'm forced to hate them. Friday, when I was riding the bus home I caught myself gazing out the window. This behavior isn't unusual, but instead of the usual mild hum running through my head, I caught myself thinking, "Oh that's Acer x freemanii "Armstrong." No wait. "Armstrong" or "Autum Blaze", it's hard to tell the length and intensity of color of those petioles." I was leaning forward, bumping my head on the window trying to determine these characteristics. I hate you horticulture you make me look like a fool on the bus.
posted by Ellen at 9:21 AM
2 Comments:
i love you, ellen. what are woodie ornamentals? decorative trees? i will never look at trees the same way again.
At least you get to say "horticulture". Such a fun word! Woodies too. Nice.
-Voth
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