jacob and i begin to text one another on monday mornings. the first is always a general, 'god this will suck,' but by the end of the second hour we've escalated to real insults. every week it's the same routine. i ignore the problem until sometime on monday afternoon, a few hours before class, when i realize my homework isn't going to do itself. i spend a few hours procrastinating then text jacob to ask how he is doing. we spend the rest of the time before class exchanging vicious gripes about the ineptitude of our classmates--i often wonder if i am too hard on them, until i get to class and remember what they've written. i've met high school students who write better.
it's not that i'm particularly adept myself, but these guys.... they just kill me. jacob too. it's the basis of our entire friendship so far. that's changing, but for now we've bonded over common disgust at the creative untalent. marta too, though she's a bit nicer and only weighs in half the time.
it's like being stuck in a washing machine full of bleach--the bleach is the dulling agent/ the mind wiper. the machine just keeps spinning and spinning and the bleach keeps wiping that space behind your eyes where all the ideas used to sit... you can feel yourself getting dumber, and it hurts too. the worst part is that you go somewhat voluntarily every monday and wednesday night--electric shock treatments for university credits. what a trade off.
this week we critique marie's story. alexa's too, but this is my procrastination tool so i haven't read hers yet. marie's story is about a girl--a lesbian, sort of--who was in a relationship with caitlin. caitlin broke it off some time ago and the main character spends the entire four pages recounting the hurt and the love they had between them. even i know lesbians that would be offended by the insinuations of gentle womanly tenderness combined with free loving lesbian. not even the L word would have dared to be so cliche. nothing actually happens in the story as it is the main character's reminiscence that we read... there is no curve, no hook, no event even to read of... just four pages of superfluously flowery prose.
with a teacher who hardly tolerates critique, where can we possibly go from here?

jacob's favourite line, sent via text (that takes time): 'it was the end of another relationship, in which i had forgotten about the core of my beliefs.'