Summary
Around the fourth week, the instructor brought in a series of masks and asked us to choose one. We had to strap the musty things to our faces, decide who it was and walk and talk like the mask would. Mine was a guy who lost everything in Vegas looking to get laid and maybe rob someone at 5 a.m. I hate masks. I didn't go back. Then there was a sculpture class. The unexpected dangling shlong that I was supposed to be recreating with clay on wire armature didn't bother me, but I didn't go back after just a few attempts to turn a limp penis into art, an unfair proposition if you ask me.
At one point I signed up for photography at a community college. I went to the whole thing except the last class. I've always been embarrassed by end-of-class student exhibits. I feel like I'm at kindergarten graduation, naively proud, beaming beneath a stapled-together paper hat while everyone else knows that you didn't really do anything spectacular. Except now you're a grown-up.It won't be any time soon. I'm not allowing myself to sign up for any more classes until I finish my master's thesis. I'm almost done. Swear.See the full content of this document
Extract
If I Were Enrichment
I'm a continuing education dropout. Knitting, acting, silkscreening, photography, sculpture-I've signed up for a million classes, and I've dropped them all.
It's not that I don't care about selfimprovement-far from it. Witness the bottles of vitamins collec...See the full content of this document
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