Half Baked

I don't recall the moment I lost interest. Somewhere between chickens and penis envy, my mind tuned out and switched to a different channel where old, black and white movies mixed with Road Runner vs. Coyote cartoons and I smiled. I didn't mean to smile but, the thought of Cary Grant and the Coyote chasing the Road Runner up the sheer face of a cliff, realizing when they were already about half-way to the top that they didn't have enough momentum to make it all the way to the top, and yelling about how the speedy, multicolored chicken they had been chasing was jealous of what big penises they had in which to pleasure their mothers with all while on their way to becoming a spot on the canyon floor amused me in a way that I simply can't explain.

The professor noticed my smile and interpreted it as a look of interest and understanding of whatever inane topic the rest of the class was discussing and she called on me, "What do you think about________?" Shit! I tuned out again. Something about cyborgs, worms, and men having babies. I think these theorists are full of shit! " I think that Haraway makes a good point about the influence of technology turning people into machines. People and their computers are inseparable." I can't believe we pay people money to sit around and think this shit up and even more for them to write about it. "The passage from Butler's story is a perfect demonstration of he deconstruction of gender identity." And I'm paying this chic to teach this shit to me? This is truly a wast of a lot of people's money, including my own.

The anxiety subsides and my mind goes back into wandering mode; this time with my head down. I pretend to take notes. Keyword, keyword, scribble. Quote, quote, scribble. Keyword, quote, scribble. Quote, keyword, scribble. The scribbles are where I fall asleep. There are mostly scribbles on the page. A whole page of partial thoughts.