Math class today. I like my teacher. He’s very awkward. He has this way of saying what he thinks we’re thinking, which at least in my case is in no way what I’m thinking, and saying it out loud. "But wait…I don’t like graphing. TOO BAD!" Only his voice gets really high pitched and nasally, like to him we all sound like Fran Drescher. He sort of grumbles during everything, too, like a low pitched growl and sometimes when he writes things on the board his tongue kind of gets stuck, hanging out of his mouth for uncomfortably long stretches of time. He keeps me entertained.
Less entertaining. We had critique in Drawing today. It wasn’t as bad as I had expected, from what everyone says about Jones I was kind of waiting for him to take my picture off the wall and rip it into little pieces and set it on fire. In reality it wasn’t that bad.
Self Realization of the Day:
You No Touch-y Unless Me Like-y
About halfway through class I was standing by the critiquing area listening to Mr. Jones when this guy came up behind me and apparently wanted to get by me so he put his hand on the small of my back and sort of pushed down so I would move forward and out of his way. It made me sort of mad and I didn‘t understand why. In part I knew it was because I don’t like being touched without some invitation for it. God knows I don’t think about it when I’m playing around with friends, when I'm cuddled up on the couch with Emmy or the boys, or when I’m at a concert and there’s twenty people basically grinding against me. So why did this bother me so much? I’m by no means a personal space Nazi, sometimes I even prefer a little personal contact when I’m talking to someone I know intimately, I think it shows full attention, affection even. Maybe that’s why it got to me. So I started to think about it and realized something. I think of touch in the form of gesture. To me placing your hand on the small of someone’s back is an intimate act, not necessarily in a sexual way (but I must say, that’s usually where my mind compartmentalizes it), just that it permit’s a certain closeness, almost possessively so. Not a way to move an unwanted person from blocking your way, an excuse me works for that. Maybe that’s why I’ve never really liked being touched by strangers or maybe I will just add overly sensitive to my ever growing list of neurotic "quirks" and need to stop thinking of touching in such an intimate fashion. Either way…blah.
I better go do some laundry seeing as I’ve now moved from my last clean shirt to Megan’s last clean shirt.
The things we leave behind.
16 hours ago