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Art Student by Ray Printer Friendly

Began writing in class:

Brain-worn and glassy-eyed. Didn’t sleep much last night, and when I dozed, it was a restless thing, filled with dreams of school and jobs and wicked stepmothers.

Eight o’clock, at school, reading chapters from an art book I couldn’t give a shit about, waiting for the teacher to arrive.

“You’re here early,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“I did,” I say. I didn’t, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the moving, the cleaning, the constant sneezing, or the lack of sleep. Whining’s only fine when you make it funny. Otherwise, it just sounds like this.

I drop my supplies by my work table and go to a computer. I turn it on and realize there’s nothing that I want to see. Too early to check for any new comments, but I do it anyway.

My princess brought home some sort of evil kid germs, so I’ve been fighting a cold since Sunday. My nose stops up just a little before class, but it’s not enough to keep the smell of the fat goth girl a couple tables down from penetrating my sinuses.

Class passes uneventfully, and eventually ends.

The next teacher comes in. I stay at my work table. I have two classes in a row, both in the same classroom, from nine to five, straight through.

She looks awful. Sick. Great.

She spends twenty minutes telling us all about how sick she is, how contagious she is, and how terrible she feels. She tells us that class will be let out early today. Then she begins making her rounds, “helping” us, getting all up in everyone’s face. Thank goodness I don’t ever need any help in this class.

But then there she is, leaning over my shoulder, breathing right in my face. I smell the stink of her sick-breath, and I want to punch her in the neck. Instead, I lean away from her and hold my breath until she leaves, shaking my head to indicate that I don’t need any help.

She doesn't let class out early.

I spend the evening eating vitamin C and thinking about how art classes are shit-stupid awful.


posted 7/03/08


Comments:
Entered By Lauren From NH
2008-07-03 23:21:42

And think about how goth chicks should not be fat. They're supposed to be thin and pale and gaunt and deathlike. Tell her to drop the black and go hang with the band.


Entered By Ray From Austin
2008-07-03 23:52:15

No shit, right? And the thing is, she still dresses in goth gear--my favorite was the time she wore fishnet sleeves. Looked like someone torturing the Pillsbury Doughboy.


Entered By Jesse From Austin
2008-07-04 00:19:09

Even in the face of all the humor of mockery here, I object to calling that a favorite.


Entered By Ray From Austin
2008-07-04 01:04:19

My apologies. I meant my favorite thing to think of when I'm puking out my dinner. Bulimia has serious disadvantages.



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