If you have been reading my blog for some time, you know that poetry and I have maintained a love-hate relationship in which poetry makes advances at me, tries to sweep me off my feet, sings me to sleep… and I try my best to just hate the biatch!
I’ve done all I can to hate poetry. I've even convinced myself that my professors are just mad poets who want to fill me with rhyme, poetic devises, and
FREAKING poetry related homework until I burst!
A common factor about all unjustified intolerant behavior is that the hater is usually narrowed minded, has attached blinders so tightly against the side of the head that brain function suffers… basically and hater is 9.99 times out of 10, dead
I am no different. I was so bent over backwards in my efforts to hate poetry that I wanted the teaching of the craft to be nonsensical and unfair. So when my poetry homework mandated the annotation of 4 long-as-all-holy-lies poems, a presentation on a school of poetry, and the memorization of enough material to drive anyone mad, I told myself “I knew it! Poets are crazy and they are out to get me. Two days is not nearly enough time to do all this work. Curse you synecdoche, onomatopoeia, enjambment and limerick! Curse you! Curse you! Curse you!”
I called my Piano Man and bitched about it, my perfect lover consoled me. I went to bed at 1am. Then I got at 4am to finish the last bit of poetic torture. “Wait a
FREAKING minute…” I told myself as I reread the instructions at 4 am-ish. Oh. My. Gods! I didn’t have to do all of that work; not even an 1/8 of it. Why didn’t I use common sense and emailed my professor and asked why I got so much work to finish in 2 days?
The answer is simple: I was following an old Marine Corps instruction that pertains to saluting officers, flags and landmarks: “When in doubt, whip it out!” meaning that if you can’t tell if the shiny thing on the Marine’s collar is an officer's rank insignia, just go ahead and salute. It is better to get laughed at for about 2 minutes, than to find yourself scrubbing your commanding officer’s toilet with a very tiny toothbrush, for a whole week.
Moral of this self-degrading story: when in doubt, don’t just FREAKING whip it out; ask someone!
I’m so sleepy…