Sooo... have you ever written something for someone who was really critical, so that with every sentence all you could think about was what criticisms they would make of it? That's the way I feel with my poetry prof.
"Structure your paper according to your argument not the material."
"Grammatical error here."
"Unclear."
"Unsupported statement."
"Over-generalization."
These are the voices I hear in my head. And that's just what I imagine she says--when I start in on what she must be thinking, its a wonder I can write at all. My goal today is to write 6 pages, which amounts to about half the paper. The rules are that I can write it as sloppily and disorganizedly as I want, as long as I get to 6 pages. I'm presently almost to four pages and I've been working since 8am. (It's currently 5:30.) By the way, if you're sick of hearing about these papers, first consider how sick I must be of thinking about them and then choose to tune out for the next five days. Because I have to do this exact same thing on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, then Thursday and Friday to revise. *Sigh*

Oh, except there is some unfolding drama on the non-school front. (Lucky for me. Oh wait...) Here's the story. The other day, I looked out my front window to see a gorgeous rainbow arcing over the pine tree outside. I stepped out to admire the view, and at that moment, heavy rain came pouring, dumping, splashing from the sky. Thick, heavy drops, thunder, the works. If you know me at all, you know how thrilled I was and that I immediately went running out into it to get soaked. I had left my door partially open, so I stayed in the parking lot, running back and forth like the psycho duckling that I am. Well, pretty soon, the neighbor's door opens and his son comes out to join me. Now, if my life were a soap opera, the term "neighbor's son" would necessarily invoke a shy, superficially nerdy but hottie guy who writes poetry about me in his spare time, and I would think of him as a friendly brother type, until that fateful day in the rain, when the music swells and...

But my life is not a soap opera, as we all know. In my life, "neighbor's son" means a short, 30+, overfriendly smoker who finishes my sentences for me and is moving into the same low-rent apartment complex as his dad. Again, lucky me.

But anyway, so I was nice to him because in order to be standoffish I would have had to return indoors, and plus I was in my rain mood, which is well nigh unquenchable. (LOL, that wasn't intended to be a pun) And rain that good is hard to come by, even in Oregon. So we stood there getting soaked, and I answered all his questions about school and my papers and my new bike and everything, until the rain slowed and I got cold and went inside. The end.

Or so I thought.

The next morning I awoke and stepped outside to go to DariMart and buy some more half&half for my coffee, and lo and behold, there was a note taped to my door. Its contents ran something like this: [no greeting] "I hope I'm not being too forward. I had a fun time in the rain last night just standing and chatting; I would like to talk or hang out again sometime. You can leave your number with my pop (your neighbor next door). If you think that would be fun. Rainbow of Life. [no signature]" It's really unfortunate that he didn't sign it since I haven't the slightest idea what his name is (although I think he told me once). This means I can't write a note to reject him because I would have to give it to his dad, who has two sons (again, if my life were a soap opera, we could have fun with the whole mistaken identity thing here). Nor can I reasonably go up to his dad and say, "Uh, your son, whose name I don't know, asked me out on a note the other day... could you tell him that I said forget it?" So basically I have to wait until he decides to show up again to reject him properly. Our doors (his dad's and mine) are about six feet apart, so I've been sort of jumpy around my apartment the last couple of days, trying to be prepared to see him at any moment, rush out, and put an end to this immediately. I hate for things to be unresolved. But the longer his disappearance continues, the more likely it is that he'll catch on that I haven't in fact given my number to his "pop" as he asked, and that I probably don't really want to stand in the rain with him ever again. In which case, hopefully, I might not have to say anything at all.

Then again, he's moving in next door (yes, I'm going to have the dad on one side and the son on the other) so it's not like I can hope to never see him again, as one might do with a guy one meets at a bar. Plus, I only have shades on my windows, which means two options: open or closed. Cave or fishbowl. And the building is kind of L-shaped, which means his dad's door is right outside my front window, which means that anytime any of them walk in or out, they have a great view of my living room and kitchen. And the yappy dog lets them know whenever I pull in or out of the parking lot. Pretty much no privacy. Ok, three more months, just three more months and I'll be out of there for good...breathe, breathe...

Also, though this is an open forum, my annoyance is overriding my embarrassment in telling you that I have only been asked out twice in my life, both times by notes! What does this say about the kind of guys that are attracted to me? Or, perhaps, the fact that I am so frightening that I cannot be approached face to face. Well, I made the mistake of going out (once!) with the first note guy, and believe me, that was an unrepeatable experience. He said approximately five words the entire night, and most of those to the floor. And it's not like I can carry the conversation with a near-stranger. I like to talk about myself, but they have to give me something to go on.

Hmm, maybe I'll tell him I have a boyfriend in Taipei...

Labels: anecdote, grad school

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Thursday, May 19, 2005

"Or say a dream it was..."