Man-O-Man.

This is entirely a bitch session about school. No Doot aboot it.

I spent seven hours, as stated last entry, fiddling with various aspects of type, trying to create two two-page magazine spreads and a magazine cover for my typography class. Now, I know that I'm no typography genius. I'm good with words when I WRITE them, and I just want the bedamned things to look decent when they are on printed matter.

Okay. So, seven hours of typography, crawling into bed at three fifteen in the morning, and when my alarm went off at nine am, It felt like my head had just hit the pillow two seconds beforehand. I'm LATE to class (I fucking HATE public transit sometimes) by twenty minutes, because no one downtown knows how to effing well DRIVE during daytime hours near the Vancouver Public Library. Retards. All of them. I'm so tempted sometimes to holler at the bus driver "HEY GRANDMA! CAN WE GET A MOVE ON, ALREADY? THE LIGHT'S FUCKING GREEN! THAT MEANS GO!" but refrain.

I get to class, only to find it's a work period, and because I was late, I have five minutes LESS critique time than everybody else in class for the spreads I busted my ass over the night prior, and when I finally get to talk to him the last 15 minutes of class, EVERY SINGLE SPREAD gets shot down. *sighs*

It's enough to make me want to break down crying, when I worked so damned hard on them, when I knew that they needed some more tweaking, but that overall I was happy with the aesthetic of the pages. How the hell am I supposed to be as good at typesetting as someone who's been playing with a fucking printing press half of his life and finds typesetting to be his passion? I'm NOT. Not six months into the course, and not two years into design. I won't be as slick at it as he is until I've had five years, minimum.

I'm not the only one mired in negativity in my class, either. And it's becoming very, VERY obvious that out of the eight of us in second term, eight of us are worried, unhappy and concerned with the lack of quality portfolio stuff that our assignments this term so far have provided for us.

So, how does one reward themselves, to lighten their mood and bring them out of this solid blue funk? Easy. Get a haircut. Have a hairdresser massage the HELL out of your scalp. Buy some chocolate, ignore homework for the night, and curl up reading a novel until you fall asleep.

That's the plan for the night. Fuck it.