The Racist And The Cynic

I think I have a weird obsession with photographing leaves and paths:

Colors (1 of 1)


Forgotten Love (1 of 1)


Shadows and Leaves


Withered  (1 of 1)


smalls of life (1 of 1)



Memories (1 of 1)


Pink Petal (1 of 1)


Another Withered (1 of 1)


contrast (1 of 1)
I seriously have a problem. It’s an obsession.

I took those about a week and a half ago and haven’t been out on a photography bender since.

It’s hard to get out sometimes. It’s like everyday is one of those weekend mornings that you lay on your back in bed knowing that you have to do laundry, go to the grocery store, run the kids to soccer practice, pick the kids up from soccer practice, clean the kitchen, scrub the bathroom, tidy up the living room, water the lawn, wash the windows, wash the car, sweep the porch, and pay the bills and you just don’t have the motivation to do any of it.

I don’t even have to do any of those things. If I did I probably wouldn’t; I’d sleep the days away, I know I would.

Because I’ve been at my college for two and a half years now, they give me priority status for choosing my classes. Tomorrow I’ve got to pick what I’m going to take for next semester and I’m worried the same thing is going to happen all over again. I’m going to get depressed and overwhelmed and stressed and drop a whole load of them and get stuck at this stupid college for another year.

Everything is going so fast.

That’s probably why I love photographing things that are still and peaceful. Some people are into that motion photography and giving a glimpse at busy city life and it makes them happy and that’s cool. But it’s not for me. I like to capture one single, still moment I can appreciate that is the exact opposite of how my brain works. Maybe it helps me slow down, I don’t know.

I’m probably analyzing something I don’t need to.

There’s one class, a psychological research class, I need to take in order to get my degree. I signed up for it this semester but dropped the second day because wholly fuck I was not prepared. I was not prepared at all. It was a small class, and I could have handled the group work. He said it wouldn’t happen every class period, but frequently. He said it would happen all the time in the lab. I’ve been in labs in other science classes and I get along fairly well with labs, especially in biology or chemistry.

I never told you all about the girl in my biology lab who thought she was hot shit and joined our group and started directing us all over the place and couldn’t do simple math, so I took over and basically told her to fuck off in the most polite way I could and then when it came to do the presentation I fell silent not because of my anxiety for once (although partly) but because she kept acting arrogant and didn’t want to participate so I made her do the presentation. It was funny. She struggled explaining her ideas mostly because they were dumb. At the very end I basically disregarded everything she said in front of the class and said the correct things. The next lab Friday she sat in the back of the class away from us.

I had won the battle and became queen of two Latina chicks who spoke alright English but sometimes struggled with the wording the textbook. My kingdom was small but mighty.


Anyway, we dissected hearts of sheep (two people nearly fainted for some reason) among other things and we teamed up with the anatomy lab to see four carcasses. A lot of people couldn’t handle it. So only a few of us went in the back and they taught us the anatomy of the heart by shoving a human heart in our face (thing is huge), and they showed us cirrhosis of the liver by shoving a diseased liver in our face, and they showed us all the intestines and all that yummy stuff by letting us lean over their work space and stare into the cavern of the four bodies. And I thought to myself: this, this room here full of these people with all their gloves stuffed inside the dead bodies and white lab coats that nearly touched the floor on short people, this is where serial killers are born.

I love labs. Something exciting always happens.  But the lab for that psychology class was a bitch. First of all it happened right after class ended, so you sat in that room with those people for four and a half hours every Tuesday and Thursday. You had to schedule in time to conduct six experiments of your own at some point during the semester with psych 1 students and he didn’t even give more information on it. The one thing about bad social anxiety is that by the time you build up the courage to ask a question to clarify things for you, you’re already lying in bed at home like shit, I should have asked.

But then you remember how stupid you might sound and then you curl up in your blankets and say fuck it, I’ll just drop the class.

One of my goals is to get my social anxiety under enough control that I can finish that class. I have no other option, honestly.

Checklist Paper And Pen.So that class is number one million on the list of classes my anxiety has interfered with. I need to take another Ethics class, which I’d love to do since I love Philosophy, but I remember peering in on their class to do my own personal socially anxious research ritual and saw that they did huge group presentations and projects. I can’t even think of a simple sentence to say in front of people; thinking analytically in front of them is near impossible.

Let me write my words out on the board and just have the class read it. Then i’ll do it.

I want to take the Eastern philosophy though. I’m sick of learning western ideas. It’s boring.

There’s no way I’m ready to take that psych class again. So the only class I know for sure that I’m taking is math. That’s stress enough right there.

I couldn’t handle taking a language class. A whole class devoted to oral repetition? Ha! Kill me first. Everyone, friends and classmates and such, always said I should take Spanish. Obviously I want to learn, I’m not so much of an idiot that I don’t see that I’m going to need to be Bilingual with the next most popular language in my area. But when I say “No” they take it as “No, I don’t want to learn because I’m racist and don’t like the language. I’m black and therefore sick of being around non-black people who I can’t relate to because I’m racist. I’M RACIST.”

No motherfucker, I’m not taking it because I can barely say a coherent sentence in English in front of people when my brain stops the words in my throat and sends them below and I end up standing there like an idiot. How do you think I’ll act in a class where the majority of the people already speak fucking Spanish and are just taking it because it’ll be easy as shit for them? I’ll sound even more stupid. I don’t feel like being laughed at.

I want to feel at least a tiny bit more comfortable speaking in my own Language before I try and learn a new one.

Problem is, I also can’t get into the University I want to without language. The school system is directed towards Extroverts. The whole world is.

But does anyone get that? Of course not. I’m just a racist and a cynic. You know, I’m African American and Native American in a family that’s always, always worked hard and still lives in poverty and is torn apart by addiction but I’m the racist and the cynic. Because that makes sense.


I just don’t know about anything anymore.

Ha, just kidding. I know I’m not taking physics again. These professors suck (it’s not just me who says that, ask anyone who takes physics as my college) and the Physics Learning Center makes me shudder. Too small, too many people, and they’re all arrogant.

I’m arrogant too, but at least I’m not so flamboyant about it.