10:25 p.m. - 09/13/02
|[making life size models of the velvet underground in clay::|
I'm not sure what news warrants me being here instead of heading to bed, but I feel the need to release some of my shoulder-tension through the keys. Since my dad's move, he's taken to sending silly e-mail to my siblings and me, which feels odd considering how consistently I seek refuge from my parents on-line. It feels odd to have him somehow in this world. Still, this nightly venting just before bed has started to find its way into my routine, and I think I like it. It doesn't interfere with my schoolwork this way, and it's a nice way to wrap up the night. Lately, the weeks have been so long, that, even as a homebound student bent on using the weekend for study, I'm grateful to find it finally Friday night. I'm not sure what the difference is for me between a weekend and a week. Maybe it's just a marker. Another week went by, and I kept up, I stepped up, I survived.
When I talked to the doc on Wednesday, and he started asking how much of my stress was physics, I thought he was going to take it away. I thought he was going to say to me, "let's just change that one class" and as I started to think about it, I found joy. I mean, what remarkable relief. How easy would my schedule be without (one of the two classes I really *wanted* to take), the class that throws me back more quickly than any other to the hell of Freshman Geometry. It basically meant throwing away the "challenge" in my (scholastic) world, securing the relative boredom of school without the accomplishment. But sometimes, I'm not sure I can distinguish between possible and impossible challenges, and so all kinds scare me. I wanted to run then because this class, with all its memories of other years, frightens me beyond what I know I can feel. I wanted to run because I can't be at red this time; I can't beat school disorder with their help, which leaves me wondering if I can beat it at all.
Instead he offered me meds which I already have (occasionally, he precedes an evidence of his scarily-vast-knowledge-of-me with the forgetting of something normal doctors would recall), and a few tips to counter the anxiety. And by the time I got home, I was glad that was all he'd done. I was thinking what I said last night, that attacking this as an isolated issue, without the constant presence of Ed, I might be able to beat it. I might be able to try.
That afternoon, I took one psych and one physics test. I wasn't much worried about psych. I read the material, I understood it very well, and everything I'd turned in had come back with perfect scores. This physics test, on the other hand, had brought me to tears more than one time between Friday when I started it and Wednesday when I finished the last problems. Today, Mistrandy came to return my work; for the first time, I had graded physics assignments and the test. Plus a note from my phys teacher, who I am now *positive* is a really good guy. I received a 16/18 on the test. Which is not bad. Especially considering that the mean score for the class was a 12-something. I got four points above that, even though Mistrandy did help me through two of the problems. Even if I'd missed them, I would have been about equal with the mean score of the class. And I'm proud of that. Plus, one line of his note was, "You're as smart as they say you are" which really touched me. He doesn't have to take that sort of personalized interest in me, and he is, and I appreciate it. He wants to meet me, he offered to come out here, he is the antithesis of my geometry demons, and I just have to keep telling myself that. I mean, I have a feeling that if I really *knew* him, I would feel comfortable saying during a rough point, "I know this material, but I'm having some weird flashback-type-reactions to being in this sort of class" and he would understand. And it's weird, but, since I took the class for the couple of weeks I was in school while at RED, I feel like he's part of the good. I mean, being in school there *wasn't* good, but physics was the one class I really worked on, and I remember talking about it excitedly with Leah and some other people before they took my books away. So how nice to have a part of that here, even if he *was* here, really, all along.
Maybe the doctor-man and my brother aren't the only decent boytypes in the world.
The psych test was not so happy. I have a really hard time not doing well with school. I have a harder time not doing well on exams over concepts I understand. I have the hardest time not doing well on exams over concepts I understand in large part because of some injustice on the part of the teacher. And that's what happened with my psych test. On my own, I earned (yes, I did the math for this) a B+, which is lower than my expected grade, but not something I'd beat myself up for. Just have to remember, it's AP, and the multiple choice questions suck. Just have to remember to take no prisoners and kick examination ass. Yes.
Instead, I got a C-. Yes, that's right. A C-. And I still am not terribly mad at myself (in part because it's the first test, in part because my grades up until now have been fine, in part because I have time to do better, but *mostly*) because I didn't earn a C-. And I am quick to blame myself in these situations. But this is ridiculous.
The majority of the test was multiple choice; the one other section was an essay-type question which asked that I design an experiment to determine the statistical correlation between alcohol and aggressive tendencies. And there was a set of vocab-type concepts that needed to be referenced in the experiment. For instance, I needed to point out that alcohol was the independent variable, aggression the dependent variable, et cetera. Those were the instructions, and that is what I did. I designed an experiment, I pointed out the population, the variables, et cetera, and I figured, ok. That's done. And I received half-credit.
I was expected to write this experiment as if the person picking up the paper had no concept of psychology, which I specifically *didn't do* because it discussed operational definition, and operational definition is used (in part) to aid in the replication of experiments by scientists outside the original study. I made it clear that I knew the terms, but I did not beat it over the reader's head. And I was given half-credit for that. I was given half-credit for not completing to my teacher's standard a direction I *wasn't given.* Nowhere on my paper did it say "write this like they have no clue." And no where in my assignments did I have a similar problem where I learned this was expected of me. I was cheated, basically, by my absence from the classroom. And I know this, even more fully, because as I've mentioned before, my psych teacher is my mom's friend's daughter, and they talk.
Apparently, my psych teacher told her mom that I am obviously (adapts almost scared voice) "really bright" - but since AP teachers are paid, in large part, to teach the test (which I'd like to point out now, I don't plan to take), my absence from the classroom keeps me from interpreting the material in the exact same way as she teaches it, and from being able to read her mind on tests. And so, I got a C- on a multiple choice psych test. I mean, Jesus, if there's anything I understand...
I know that she didn't want to accept me into the class, but the point here is *she did.* She did accept me, as a homebound student- aware that as such, certain special arrangements might have to be made. And now I've gotten a test grade nearly two letters lower than what I earned because, basically, I'm not in the class. I really can't handle that. When my physics teacher is like "damn, your smart"- my sci-fi teacher loves me, and all my work comes back glowing with happy ink, but the *one class* I actually *know* I understand is the one I struggle in, for a reason I have no control over, I get angry. I was literally enraged for a good fifteen minutes after school ended.
I quelled it during school in order to take civil war and fashion strategies tests, though I did make one comment about how it "upset me" to which Mistrandy was very sympathetic, and seemed to take my side. She was very laid-back, telling me not to let it get me down, that I knew what this teacher wants now, but she knows how hard I work, how well I understand this, and how not following invisible directions is not something I can be penalized for...so that was nice. And I'm sure the psych teacher is a really good woman; I really feel for her based on what I know because of our moms' friendship. But still. We both have responsibilities in this relationship. I've been working myself right out of sanity to meet mine. I expect a relative effort from her.
I can correct the multiple choice if I explain why the correct answer is correct. I might rewrite the essay as well- even though I can't get credit for it. If I rewrite it, I can hopefully coax her to look at it, and explain if this is what she wants because this will *not* continue to happen. Otherwise (or maybe also) I will write her a note, send her a message, about how "we're obviously struggling with communication, and how can we rectify that" et cetera. Because if there's anything worse than failing, it's being failed.
And a C- isn't horrible, but I also have an above average understanding of psych. I mean, how much of my world is psychological science? Yeah, that's what I thought. Now why isn't that percentage in keeping with my grade?
I need to start writing about something other than school, for something other than school. I have a fable assignment for creative writing, and I did a character sketch today of a not-so-well-coded embodiment of my displacement-from-home pain. Her name is Blaine, and we are fast becoming friends. But outside those, I feel like all my words are school-based, and I can't deal with that. I need to break the ranting-journal streak, or at the very least, redirect it toward a more accurate target. I know there are other things I want to say, but right now, it's just too late in my day to do them even semi-justice.
But. I did sleep again last night, which was quite beautiful. And I remembered my dreams for the second time in a row. They've been quite odd these dreams, and my reactions just as much. I think I responded to the more-disturbing one with less upsettedness. But then, I think I've just been overwhelmed by the opportunity to be with people only my subconscious mind keeps such clear conceptions of. Bless dear Morpheus. I'd be so lonely if it weren't for these visions in my head.
And you. O'course. Here's to opening e-mail written by a dearling grateful to the point of tears, and, upon reading it, nearly joining her there...
so, here's to you-
chord
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