Monday night, I was a little tense. Tuesday was freakin' pandemonium. More anxiety than I could manage. But that's a whole other ball of wax to tackle in another blog, methinks.
Ok, maybe "tense" is too timid a word. "Flipping out" might be more appropriate.
I spared no one. Why?
For starters, my Ethics professor fucked up the case study on which we were to write our papers, which were due Monday night. She typo'd the name of the counselor halfway through the study, which changed the whole story around to have it sound like there were actually 2 counselors involved in the case. Naturally, I based my paper off of this, finished it, was ready to submit it, and she "whoopsied" and had to give us a 2 day extension. She told 2 of the students in class about her mistake instead of emailing the class en masse that it was fucked up. Now I'm waiting on article loans from the library, all this shit's gotta change around, and I'm having a conniption fit.
We talked in Ethics about the dynamics of Group Therapy, in which most of us will actually be enrolled next semester. I'm fairly certain no one else in the class has ever been engaged in group therapy. The cohesiveness of the group was emphasized, and was illustrated vis-a-vis an exercise where we threw 2 Beanie Babies across the tables at one another. The first time, we had to pause and say our names and something unique we brought to the class ("I'm Andrea. I bring AGED WISDOM. OM."). The second time, we had to repeat the exact pattern in which we threw the first Beanie Baby, but now with a second in the mix, without fucking it up. We collectively, successfully completed this task,which went faster 'round the second time.
It struck me funny thinking that I can almost guarantee no one in my class has engaged in group psychotherapy...as a patient. This video clip isn't *unlike* group psychotherapy, from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," even in this day and age. It's pathetic. I seem to recall being the only person in our rehab group in the psych ward who wasn't suicidal on any given morning. I'd have been the Jack Nicholson, pre-lobotomy, the voice of reason and rebellion, busting the window to gain access to the God forsaken cigarettes...
In all honesty, this group is entirely cohesive and unified, though their brains are all misfiring at inconceivable rates and they're all, well, loony, to which I can attest and relate. It's Nurse Ratched, with her silent cohort, whose monotone and frigidity fails to impress or better yet, control the room. Oh, the times they are a'changing. Had the nurse wanted unification in the group, she should've ditched the freakin' hat (for starters) and pulled up a chair to sit within the group (easier to catch the rogue flying cigarette that way). Her flat affect does little but to intimidate and belittle. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It struck me funny thinking that I can almost guarantee no one in my class has engaged in group psychotherapy...as a patient. This video clip isn't *unlike* group psychotherapy, from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," even in this day and age. It's pathetic. I seem to recall being the only person in our rehab group in the psych ward who wasn't suicidal on any given morning. I'd have been the Jack Nicholson, pre-lobotomy, the voice of reason and rebellion, busting the window to gain access to the God forsaken cigarettes...
In all honesty, this group is entirely cohesive and unified, though their brains are all misfiring at inconceivable rates and they're all, well, loony, to which I can attest and relate. It's Nurse Ratched, with her silent cohort, whose monotone and frigidity fails to impress or better yet, control the room. Oh, the times they are a'changing. Had the nurse wanted unification in the group, she should've ditched the freakin' hat (for starters) and pulled up a chair to sit within the group (easier to catch the rogue flying cigarette that way). Her flat affect does little but to intimidate and belittle. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Expect the pundit wrap-up tomorrow. My fella won. I am ecstatic. And very, very tired.
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