I Am a Gentleman and a Scholar
Okay, fine. Maybe mostly a scholar. I could be gentleman, though. I'm pretty sure I'd look good in a tux.
Tonight I started taking my Intro to Psych class at the local community college, which offers exciting classes in How Not to Be Helpful and Rudeness 101: It's Not My Problemology. After jumping through all of their ridiculous administrative hoops, I'm finally getting myself educated. Ya know. Some more.
Did I mention the books cost me 100 bucks? Yeah, I forgot how the price of education likes to include kicks to the balls with non-tuition costs. Oh, my poor bank account balls.
It's the first step in my new life goal to become a counselor, specializing in creative arts therapies. Psychology is something I've always been into, although I never really thought of it like that. My stories are mostly character-driven, and about the way people work...or don't. I guess what I realized is--YOUR BRAINS, I WANT TO PLAY WITH THEM.
Although, fuck, I guess this means I have to learn how to spell pyschology and consueling once and for all. I'm claiming dyslexia. Because I'd prefer to think that I'm battling with a tragic undiagnosed learning disorder than accept my own mild stupidity and baby-bird-like dependence on spell check (which takes my mangled words, chews them, and then regurgitates them back into my document...and, yes, I did use spell check for regurgitate...and also yes, I am aware that I just made spell check a little awful for you).
I've also been fiddling with creating a writing workshop series based on the five sense that would strictly be for fun, but is definitely more in line with things I want to start doing. Group facilitation, creative exercises, so on...you may not realize it, but running icebreakers is the first step to world domination. And when I rule the world, EVERYONE will play improv games. I'd start watching reruns of "Whose Line" now, if I were you...mu ha...mu ha...mu ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha (I never know how many ha's to put in my evil laugh) ha ha ha ha! ...ha? (nah, too much. you've ruined it.) (well fuck me.)
The thing is, I was a terrible procrastinator in college. Terrible. And now I'm trying to figure out the best way to not do that.How the hell does honeyed_oak do it? Should I just read the entire chapter tonight, even though my throat is oddly sore and obviously planning some sort of traitorous betrayal right before my birthday extraganzas? Or will reading the whole chapter make me feel overly accomplished, and thus slip me into a state of triumphant paralysis? What to do? What to do? And how can I punish my throat for it's diabolic sore schemes, when it is attached to me and necessary for my very living? God, why must everything always be so COMPLICATED?
Well, there's pages to be read and tea to be drank. I'll let you know when I get to the part that explains why the hell I'm so ever-lovin' WEIRD.
To the books!
Tonight I started taking my Intro to Psych class at the local community college, which offers exciting classes in How Not to Be Helpful and Rudeness 101: It's Not My Problemology. After jumping through all of their ridiculous administrative hoops, I'm finally getting myself educated. Ya know. Some more.
Did I mention the books cost me 100 bucks? Yeah, I forgot how the price of education likes to include kicks to the balls with non-tuition costs. Oh, my poor bank account balls.
It's the first step in my new life goal to become a counselor, specializing in creative arts therapies. Psychology is something I've always been into, although I never really thought of it like that. My stories are mostly character-driven, and about the way people work...or don't. I guess what I realized is--YOUR BRAINS, I WANT TO PLAY WITH THEM.
Although, fuck, I guess this means I have to learn how to spell pyschology and consueling once and for all. I'm claiming dyslexia. Because I'd prefer to think that I'm battling with a tragic undiagnosed learning disorder than accept my own mild stupidity and baby-bird-like dependence on spell check (which takes my mangled words, chews them, and then regurgitates them back into my document...and, yes, I did use spell check for regurgitate...and also yes, I am aware that I just made spell check a little awful for you).
I've also been fiddling with creating a writing workshop series based on the five sense that would strictly be for fun, but is definitely more in line with things I want to start doing. Group facilitation, creative exercises, so on...you may not realize it, but running icebreakers is the first step to world domination. And when I rule the world, EVERYONE will play improv games. I'd start watching reruns of "Whose Line" now, if I were you...mu ha...mu ha...mu ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha (I never know how many ha's to put in my evil laugh) ha ha ha ha! ...ha? (nah, too much. you've ruined it.) (well fuck me.)
The thing is, I was a terrible procrastinator in college. Terrible. And now I'm trying to figure out the best way to not do that.How the hell does honeyed_oak do it? Should I just read the entire chapter tonight, even though my throat is oddly sore and obviously planning some sort of traitorous betrayal right before my birthday extraganzas? Or will reading the whole chapter make me feel overly accomplished, and thus slip me into a state of triumphant paralysis? What to do? What to do? And how can I punish my throat for it's diabolic sore schemes, when it is attached to me and necessary for my very living? God, why must everything always be so COMPLICATED?
Well, there's pages to be read and tea to be drank. I'll let you know when I get to the part that explains why the hell I'm so ever-lovin' WEIRD.
To the books!