T'was Twenty Days before Christmas...

I eyed the pizza.  I could rationalize taking one slice, but I could only achieve variety with two.  So I took one cheese (the favorite) and one veggie (the healthful choice) before turning to the desserts.  I decided on three snickerdoodle cookies (they were small), and a small mountain of (predominantly) almond Hershey’s Kisses.  And two Crunch bars.  They were fun size, so it was okay.  My plate fully loaded, I noticed the Christmas tunes dimming and a girl began sharing her screenplay with the group.  The audio she had recorded was flaky and soft, so a few of us volunteered to read.  The two people who were thrown into a sex scene mumbled a bit, and one non-smoking volunteer was confused at how to pantomime with a cigarette.  But despite these foibles, soon we were all laughing swept up in the spirit of things.  I looked around the room, stuffed to the gills with food my body has forgotten how to process, and let out a sad sigh.  I was going to miss this class.
 
I wondered for a while how this had happened.  Why was it that Blam-o’s class, in which we were urged, verbally and often, to create community, that it took two months to begin cracking some people’s shells?  Pearl never asked us to talk in small groups, or share our work with one another.  And yet we formed a class group, where we bantered constantly, bragging about each other and generally uniting as authors, seniors, and creative minds.  It seems sad in a way that Blam-o worked so hard to achieve what came naturally to Pearl’s class.
 
It makes me feel weak to admit it, but I enjoyed Pearls’ class because of how encouraging she was.  Plenty of authors work through tougher conditions than I encounter, so I have no right to complain about harsh graders. But Pearl’s direct and encouraging words took me to a place beyond “I need to be better” and into the land of “I’m still learning, but I can kick ass”.  Where Blam-o pushes, Pearls lifts.  And between the two of them, I managed to survive a semester that was both challenging and exhausting.
 
Kudos to you both, ladies.  You’ve left a mark on my education that I’ll never forget.


Now I progress onto the classes I don't enjoy for the rest of the semester.  Because of my gross generosity, I wrote them a poem.

T'was twenty days til' Christmas, and all through A. Hall
all the students are drooling, dead eyes fixed on walls.

For this week was Dead Week, when most don't have class
But attendance was called for, so we glumly kiss ass.

Somewhere upstairs, there's pizza.  Beyond that, wine and cheese...
But for us, there is nothing save low marks and high fees.

The grad student bores them with grey films of yore
as the class gently snoozes; they've been up since 4:00

As the video clicks off, bags unzip, phones turn on,
and they're off to write papers from dusk until dawn.

So the week shall progress, in it's slow weary way,
As the students all hope it will finish some day.