Oh my freakin' gawd already, my professor is trying to kill
me.
The woman is a dear, a love, a wonderful inspiration to
me. She is sometimes a little
scatterbrained, so I totally get
her. I mean, really. Have you met me? Do you read my blog? Scatterbrained
is my middle name. Well, actually Trouble is my middle name. Not really, but everyone I meet tells me
that, so it must hold a really giant grain of truth within it.
I have taken three courses with this professor, and no
matter how disorganized I feel the process is while going through it all, I
realize the amount of material I walk away with, the ideas and the story
starters and the writing methodology, it is phenomenal. I am still working on a (substantially) longer
piece she and her co-teacher started me on last summer.
I am very excited to have my final portfolio done for her,
and it is due on Friday via Cyberspace.
The only problem is she is leaving the university, so her email address
has changed. To what it has changed we
do not know because everything keeps coming back as undeliverable.
I throw in the towel and send my portfolio to her university
account. There. Done again.
Right?
Wrong.
 | |
| "Can anyone see Heliand's portfolio? Anyone at all?!" |
The effing things bounces back to me AGAIN. So I try sending it to her other email
account from my home account. That
should bypass the university telling me the file is too big (not even sure how
that's possible since people email their damn THESES which must each be
hundreds of pages long).
Honestly. Technology
is trying to kill me. My professor is
trying to kill me. Everyone else who has
successfully submitted a portfolio already is trying to kill me.
I am going to crack open my own skull, take my brain out,
and fling it against a brick retaining wall pretty damn soon. But for now, I'll stick to cracking open an
icy beer and flinging kaka via continual bitch sessions.
It's a tough job, but I'm up for it. After all, Perseverance is my middle name, isn't it?
