evildiorama

I have a very strange schedule this year. On the one hand most of my studies are now geared toward my actual profession, Communication in a business/organizational setting with an emphasis on Intercultural communication. Basically, how to make everyone from these different countries get along....but way more complicated.

BUT I still have to take classes outside my emphasis...thus ethnography. Which is sort of hard to explain.....but for the main project we're supposed to go back in our lives and find an event (usually tragic) that upset the narrative flow of our lives, then do all this stuff with it. It's sort of like really complicated creative writing. But.........like, myself and everyone else is sort of looking around at each other like, "dudes, you seem cool and all, but I am SO not telling you about my deepest darkest secret"

I mean, quite frankly the worst things that have ever happened to me aren't known by that many people..AND I'm not sure they really disrupted my life in the way the professor means...I mean, they are part of me and my past? But just a part. A shitty part.

So I think I'm gonna try and convince him that the most jarring thing I've done was the move to England the second time. I mean, that was pretty fucking disruptive. Cause, like, the whole thing with January of that year where I got really really ill, and King was killed, and I lost my boyfriend, that SUCKED and like, really did a number on me, but I'm not sure it 'disrupted' my life...maybe it was? I mean, it taught me a huge fucking lesson about where my resources for survival come from (myself and my closest friends as I had no superficial friends, no health, no familiarity, no comfortable things, not even much ACTUAL physical affection or support, save for Meg and Thea).....whatever. I'll just use that. It sounds tragic and I learned a lesson...gimme an A dude, I'm not telling you anything deeper than that.