Word to remember: carvacrol: a liquid phenol C10H14O found in essential oils of various mints (as thyme) and used as an antiseptic.
I certainly needed some of that in Drawing II today. When I went to the restroom during the break, I scratched one of the small nicks on my leg. (Evidently, one of the kittens thinks that he has to really dig in to get my attention.) Anyway, I didn't think much about it, even though it bled a bit...until I got back to class. I stood around for a few minutes and noticed that my pant leg felt wet, but I didn't pay it any attention. When I finally did look down...I looked like a crime victim. There were patches of blood in varying sizes from midway down my thigh to my knee. I was so embarrassed. Most of it came out when I went back to the restroom. Sheesh. Other than that, though, I can finally say that I am finally getting a clue in this class. I finally drew some charcoal drawings that were recognizable as human and not some strange mutant being from a Stephen King novel. I still haven't quite gotten the hang of doing gesture sketches yet. I keep wanting to do them as I learned in high school ~ one continuous line of the whole figure, not essential movement and form. Hopefully, that will be the next to click.
Well, it's been an interesting week so far. All the pressures and stresses of going back to college caught up with me. I whigged out on Monday and missed my eng. comp class. I had trouble getting my paper finished so I came home during my hour and 20 miute break between 2D and english comp to work on it and broke down. I just sat here and cried. Every little thing came back to haunt me: I didn't know half of what I was doing. Am I doing well enough to protect my financial aid? Am I failing miserably and just don't know it yet? My writing sucks. I can't seem to get anything going in the figure drawing class. What am I doing, tying myself down to one place for so long? I can't do this. I'm in way over my head...yada yada yada. I felt as if I was at the end of my rope and about to drop off the end of the world. I even started up Notetab to try to get what I was feeling out but nothing happened, except I had to lean back and make sure that none of the tears dripped into the keyboard.
Thank Whatever that's over.
The first stage (pun intended) of the set design is finished. There were only two people to participate. We both ended up missing the first deadline (Monday) and got an extension until today. I wonder if we're both feeling the same way because we certain had the same response on Monday ~ we both said, "Well, if she's got a spectacular presentation, she can have it!" As it stands, it's been decided that we've both got some good things going in our presentations so we'll work on it together. We'll see how it goes. (Oh damn ~ I forgot to get a copy of my sketch. I turned in the one and only copy I had. Hopefully, I'll see it again as this thing stumbles toward completion.)
I did finally come up with a paper. I began with an idea to write about the creative process, as compared to an ocean. Seeing that I've never been to an ocean, that idea stumbled quite a bit. I finally sat down and wrote about my feelings about having kids. I turned it in today ~ my instructor seems to enjoy it. He laughed a few times and even said, "Nice!" (and I was worried about being an absolute failure! Sheesh!) Here it is:
The Maternal Vibe
January 28, 2002
One summer, when I was about 12 or 13, a cousin of mine took it upon herself to teach me how to be a babysitter. I wasn't consulted in this decision to turn me into (insert dramatic music here) Super Sitter. She was determined to show me all the tricks, like how to check to see if the diaper needed changing and how to hold a child in order to comfort it. Turns out, she was more interested in having someone to watch her own brat than anything else. I don't even think there was anything in it for me, other than the joys of dirty diapers and spit. I have never forgotten those days, especially the glee in her voice as she declared, "We'll make a babysitter out of you yet!" I don't think so.
When I hit my teens, I learned to dread conversations with my grandmother. The question would always come out of the blue, when I was least prepared to answer it. I remember one particular episode where the family Christmas celebration had wound down. We were in the inappropriately named 'living room', really just used for holidays, and I was sitting in a very uncomfortable Victorian style chair that was hard as a rock and bulged in all the same places that I did. We'd be talking about how great the turkey was and suddenly the dreaded question would pop up: "When are you going to get married and give me a great grand baby?" I hated that question. It always struck me as being the height of selfishness to even ask such a question when I couldn't stand the thought of a squealing poop bag turning into a two year old hellion turning into a 15 year old delinquent and so on. If they wanted the damn thing so badly, why didn't they have it themselves and leave me out of it?
Whenever I made my feelings on the subject clear, I was always told the same thing. Aunts, grandmothers, friends would all get the same knowing looks on their faces and say "Oh, you'll feel different when you're older." or "Don't worry, you will eventually." My grandmother would, and still does, give me the 'pity look' because I could care less about what cousins had what child and the latest thing that those kids had done now. Old school friends would act as if I was the monster that hides in the closet because I haven't had a passel of kids and don't expect to in the near future. Yet, here I am, 32 years old and my thoughts on the subject have not changed one bit. I just don't have the maternal vibe, at least when it comes to children.
Most of my attention is lavished on my cats. I suppose you can say that they have taken the place that would have been filled in other families by the children. I remember when I hand raised my oldest cat, who will ten next year. I spent quite a few nights at 2 am, making sure that the formula was just the right temperature, cleaning him and even the equivalent of changing the dirty diapers. There were also the long nights where he had to stay at the vets and I had to come back to the suddenly quiet and cold house. Thank the gods, though, that those trials and tribulations only lasted a month or two and not years.
I also have no desire to carry anything for more than a few minutes, let alone nine months. When it comes to having another human being around twenty four hours a day and seven days a week, I know that I wouldn't be able to hack it. I get irritated when I need some time alone and my cats walk into the room. "DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?" I ask. They simply look at me as if I have completely lost my mind as well as my place as their slave and servant as they continue their quest of world domination, or at least the house.
Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with children as long as they belong to someone else and are far, far away. I understand that they are a necessary thing (read: evil) in order to ensure the survival of our species on this planet. Some people even consider their children as a measure of immortality. One evening this past August,
after a long day of driving an antique tractor and raking hay between bouts of equipment breakage, cussing and swearing never to rake that particular field from hell again, my grandmother once again brought up the issue of continuing the familial lines. Despite my saying a million times that it will indeed be a record cold day in hell before it happens she still says "If nothing changes and you don't have kids, you are the last of the line and there will be no one to pass this farm on to." It doesn't occur to her that there are other options to keep a farm than simply passing it on to the kids. Perhaps I will turn it into a teaching farm, where kids who have never seen a cow or even a tractor can come to learn where food comes from. I can even envision turning it into a wildlife sanctuary for the same reasons. A park comes to mind as well. I don't know, that's at least 30 years into the future. There is plenty of time to finalize a few plans and research how to put together a trust.
Perhaps I am not normal in my lack of maternal instinct. I suppose I like my freedom too much. I also just can't drum up enough interest about what the brat did now or what the latest photos look like. I don't particularly care for constantly wiping spit off of my clothes or the smell of dirty diapers. I don't care to clean up the kitchen after a particularly trying session of teaching the kid to use a spoon. I suppose I'll leave those jobs for someone else.
Page Copyright 2002 D. Firewolf
