Big fucking waste of time

Drama class.

Why am I working on an interpretive dance to represent the letter 'C' as depicted in a rather ornate motif that somehow manages to combine oriental and celtic designs? And the music is something that sounds like orchestral religious shit, so it doesn't even have a good beat to it.

How is *that* going to help me with counseling?

And I will add this: If I am asked/forced to sit on the floor in a circle and have an illustrated child's book read to me ONE MORE TIME, I'm gonna throw a temper tantrum. Right there on the stage.

Many, many years ago, the little bro was sitting in just such a circle one day and he got ticked off. He raised his fist and started waving it angrily at the teacher. Later, I asked him what the problem was, and he replied, "The story was just so STUPID, and I'm TIRED of stupid stories!"

He was generally smarter than everyone else. I usually am, too. So being forced to listen to children's stories -- when there are NO CHILDREN present -- is just ... OK, it's fucking beneath me, alright?

The only rational I can think of to justify my continued suffering in this matter -- aside from that it's too late to drop out and get a refund -- is to learn the art of apparent patience in the face of frustration and suffering.

I told S2 this morning that I feel enough guilt over a certain recent incident in my life that I'm thinking the only way to assuage it is to expose myself to the wellspring of said guilt, feel guilty as all shit about it and then maybe some of it will be released.

"You are SO Catholic," she told me. She has the most menacing laugh sometimes, and she employed it in this situation.

My roots may be Catholic, but here in this drama class, I'm working on the Buddhist shit: Life is suffering, and we simply must accept that fact. ... Every day in this fucking time-wasting BOMB of a class, I get a little closer to enlightenment.

That's the story I'm telling myself anyway. Because I need an anchor. I've got to have *some* explanation for the children's stories and find some way of resisting the urge to wave my fist angrily at the teacher.

Not to mention, I have to keep a straight face during my interpretive dance for the letter 'C'.