wherever you go, there you are 

"i'm known for saying how i stopped writing in my journals long ago because i realized, 'i can do no better than i've done so far!'"

she's laughing. she actually thinks she's funny. i wanted to smack her. what a pompous ass. is she serious? does she think we want to hear this? what kind of writing professor is this? i also couldn't stand how she addressed the class without eye contact. she was too busy cutting up an empty two-liter bottle of soda so that she could put in some bouquet of flowers that someone gave her. didn't she have an office on campus to do this? or, did she need to advertise how nameless people just shower her with flowers as she goes to meet her writing class on the first day of semester. maybe, it was a bouquet to congratulate her polished brass ass for surviving the "boo hoo" cold of winter in order to return and share her creative wisdom on all us wannabe writers. i hadn't even read any of her books. i just lied in my entry application (since, of course, entry into these kinds of classes is so exclusive. HAH!)

"--but that's not going to be the case for all you in my class," she continued.

god. put the damn things in water, already! i was for sure, now, that she probably bought them herself--just to make it look like she got it as a gift. i bet people actually think she's charming. i'll roll my eyes. i hope she sees i'm rolling my eyes.

"during the course of the semester, will we be able to discuss with you your writing process for some of your novels?"

some poindexter was already kissing up before we even got the class syllabus. this wasn't going to inspire me to write--being stuck between sycophants and egomaniacs. what was it going to inspire me to do? maybe, it makes sense. maybe i'm a sociopath. what else could create the best balance? but wait. didn't i hear that crazy people never ask themselves if they're crazy? they just are. and, so will i. i'll just "be." i just hope i'm being consciously sane. well, if at the least, incidentally sane?