must have drank some of it, too.

In my short-story writing class, we were deconstructing Blake’s proverbs. In response to, “Expect poison from the standing water,” one guy answered, “Yeah, this reminds me of the time my friends and I were in the woods and had this bong but didn’t have any water for it, so we used water from a puddle. It didn’t taste very good.”

Speaking of my writing class, there’s a woman in there who doesn’t belong. That sounds harsh, yes, but she’s admitted several times that she’s only there to write about her dead mother. She was in a poetry class of mine and there she only wrote abstract/obvious poems about her mother. Part of me wants to be sympathetic but the other part thinks that this is a college class, not a therapy group. And how do you critique someone who’s not there to improve her writing? In poetry, she defended everything by giving a disclaimer that this was about her mother. What pisses me off is that she was on the waiting list and another student who needed the class to graduate couldn’t get in and she didn’t relinquish her spot. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I must admit her story is old.

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