queena

The following is a sucky emo journal entry.

So there.

I handed my model in today... I thought it was nicer than some of the others already handed in, but I'm biased.
As I began to dance to the tunes of FunkyTown eminating from a friend's cell phone, I was handed the mark for my group presentation.

It's a fucking C. The pasties stunt was considered inappropriate (yeah, well...) - and offensive. Fuck offensive.
Apparently we also didn't do a very thorough job on research, or on explaining Maria Bjornson's designs... I disagree. I began to research the DAY THE PROJECT WAS ASSIGNED. And my group still had to get additional information and borrow books from our prof.

I promptly exited the classroom, and thanked my prof (he's a student, which is part of the problem). It was an ironic moment.
I hate to think about my poor model and the grade it will be given. I honestly feel like I gave birth to the thing.Last night, I cut off some hair, burnt it and added it to the model - ambience. So it's fair to say I put myself quite literally into the piece. And I want it to be good... My daddy is a set designer, and I was going to give him the model. It meant a lot to me.

Seething and smoking, I made my way to the SUB, where I was to purchase a book and some meds. The book wasn't in. My friend Oskar, however, was... and I am sad to say I unleashed a torrent of tears on the poor guy.
I hate crying in front of people... especially in public! I'm a frustratingly independent gal, and I don't like to burden people with my shit. They have their own - and besides, I'm better at listening than letting go.

So Oskar and I have planned to meet up and cram for the final with some other drama geeks. Let's hope it happens; those theatre kids are certainly good for my morale.

Speaking of which, I watched Wrongfully Accused this afternoon when I got home. Leslie Nielson also cheered me.

I'm gonna call home, paint more and hopefully meet up with a friend to get stoned tonight. I could use the break from myself.