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psalm_onethirtyoneDeux items:
1. Apparently while I was out my mama called and left a message with my roommate, to whit: "Tell her to make sure she eats something before her exam!" Oh Mama. Ilu so much. And I will have a bowl of soup, if Jitters is stocking anything that is not full of evil priony beefy goodness (contradiction in terms lol whut where).
2. There is a name for my particular suicidal tendencies! Specifically, death instinct, which is a theory developed by Freud that essentially says that people have a natural instinct to want to get away from the stress and craziness of life, they want to stop the demands that are made upon them (whether consciously or unconsciously, for both the demander and demandee -- good God, what linguistic constructs I am making up), they just want everything to go away and let them rest. Which is usually how I feel when I am experiencing suicidal ideation; that is, the strongest emotional I usually experience is being tired. I feel tired and like there's too much being asked that I just can't live up to or fulfill, and I want to die so that I can just be alone and be quiet.
So that was pretty cool, to learn that it's a legitimate psychological theory. Funny thing it was referenced by my Short Story professor in regards to Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener, which is a work of PURE CRACK and apparently deeply symbolic and if I have to write an essay comparing it to Joseph Conrad's Secret Sharer and Poe's Cask of Amontillado and Fall of the House of Usher I will stab my eyes out with a red pen, but the point is I tend to take what that particular professor says with a saltshaker, so I am mildly amused that I got something really worthwhile from one of his lectures. Which is not to say that his lectures are bad, per se, just that I frequently either don't agree with him or don't agree with his method of presenting things. Either way, he is infinitely more competent than my Death and Dying professor, inasmuch as he actually knows what he is doing and actually teaches us something, which is more than can be said for her. Also her class makes me want to strangle myself with my laptop cord. It runs my soul through a paper shredder. Once my soul is properly transformed into thin strips of useless, the class takes it, dumps it into a vat of acetic acid, stirs it around for a while, treats it with carboxylic acid, contaminates it with EDCs, then mixes this solution with methane and lights a match to it. Then it spits on my grave. If both I and the professor are still alive by the end of the semester, it will be because I have showed admirable restraint and have confined my fury and frustration to capslocked rants in the margins of my note-taking, and not because she has done anything to deserve survival in regards to her class, which she DOES NOT TEACH.
...That was a pretty good rant y/n? I've never done that before. :D Mmm catharsis.
1. Apparently while I was out my mama called and left a message with my roommate, to whit: "Tell her to make sure she eats something before her exam!" Oh Mama. Ilu so much. And I will have a bowl of soup, if Jitters is stocking anything that is not full of evil priony beefy goodness (contradiction in terms lol whut where).
2. There is a name for my particular suicidal tendencies! Specifically, death instinct, which is a theory developed by Freud that essentially says that people have a natural instinct to want to get away from the stress and craziness of life, they want to stop the demands that are made upon them (whether consciously or unconsciously, for both the demander and demandee -- good God, what linguistic constructs I am making up), they just want everything to go away and let them rest. Which is usually how I feel when I am experiencing suicidal ideation; that is, the strongest emotional I usually experience is being tired. I feel tired and like there's too much being asked that I just can't live up to or fulfill, and I want to die so that I can just be alone and be quiet.
So that was pretty cool, to learn that it's a legitimate psychological theory. Funny thing it was referenced by my Short Story professor in regards to Melville's Bartleby the Scrivener, which is a work of PURE CRACK and apparently deeply symbolic and if I have to write an essay comparing it to Joseph Conrad's Secret Sharer and Poe's Cask of Amontillado and Fall of the House of Usher I will stab my eyes out with a red pen, but the point is I tend to take what that particular professor says with a saltshaker, so I am mildly amused that I got something really worthwhile from one of his lectures. Which is not to say that his lectures are bad, per se, just that I frequently either don't agree with him or don't agree with his method of presenting things. Either way, he is infinitely more competent than my Death and Dying professor, inasmuch as he actually knows what he is doing and actually teaches us something, which is more than can be said for her. Also her class makes me want to strangle myself with my laptop cord. It runs my soul through a paper shredder. Once my soul is properly transformed into thin strips of useless, the class takes it, dumps it into a vat of acetic acid, stirs it around for a while, treats it with carboxylic acid, contaminates it with EDCs, then mixes this solution with methane and lights a match to it. Then it spits on my grave. If both I and the professor are still alive by the end of the semester, it will be because I have showed admirable restraint and have confined my fury and frustration to capslocked rants in the margins of my note-taking, and not because she has done anything to deserve survival in regards to her class, which she DOES NOT TEACH.
...That was a pretty good rant y/n? I've never done that before. :D Mmm catharsis.
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Date: 2009-03-07 08:02 pm (UTC)