The High of a Completed Assignment

Let's hop in our time machine and rewind to the end of January 2009. It was a tumultuous time in my life due to the worst break-up pre Chris & Rihanna, but also because I had started my spring semester. For the semester, I was only taking 2 classes, as it was all I was willing to handle given my limited interest in school (at the time) and my work schedule. The distractions, nonetheless, were welcomed. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.

It was then that I met Dr. James Bell, a psychologist at my school, and the only person who taught the philosophy course that I needed. Dubbed Logic & Critical Thinking, I thought this course was going to be a breeze. How hard would it be to count squares within squares and solve a couple riddles, right? I guess my first day of classes should of been a hint of things to come. I was a few minutes late as usual, and as I walk in I am horrified to find out that all the seats are taken and the few ones left are at the front of the class. Go figure. I'm not a front of the class kind of a guy, unless its a small class and I already know my peers. I prefer the brooding, back of the class bad boy, sneaking txts and tweets, image. First thing we do is fill out some survey about ourselves and I read the top of the it: Psych 101. Imagine my dismay to find out that not only did I make a big interruption entering the class, but it was the wrong one to begin with. So what does one do? Do I disrupt the class again and point out my own mistake and show up late to the other class? Or sit there and by all means "just take it" *wink*. I figured I wouldn't ever see these kids again anyway so I told the Teach that it was my mistake but I was in the wrong class, slipped out and made my way next door to where I belonged.

Finally in the right class, I get to sit in the middle back section. Not a bad spot, IMHO, so I survey the room and check out the for the cute boys first. A couple Yes's and 1 maybe. Spoiler: One of the Yes's and the maybe end up in being in my of my groups for the class. Dr. Bell hands out the necessary coursework for the semester: a booklet the size of a family Bible with the pretty picture of the last supper in the front, and several smaller booklets. We get a couple more handed out throughout the semester and as it progresses, the class is asked to participate in group discussions, (ok i can deal), weekly reflections of the course (B.S. is my middle name), and concepts on "learning to learn" (que what) and "thinking about our thinking". On paper (and it was a lot of paper) the class wasn't half bad, but the amount of hours Dr. Bell expected us to devote to this class was beyond ridic. Granted, I had the time, since my only other class was a breeze, but what if I had a full course load?

I understand I may come off as a little whiney, and that other students a lot more apt than I am do a lot more work than I possibly could, but I also understand the concept of engaging students in order to class interesting, something Dr. Bell failed to grasp. Four months, several hair pulling nights, and MaryJane visits later, I passed the class. At the end of the course, Dr. Bell asked us to provide suggestions on how to improve it, and to write a letter to future students. My suggestion: plant a fucking tree. Dr. Bell never used blackboard, or any other online resource, (except for when he wanted us to do some research on a topic) in an attempt to expand his lessons, but instead opted for a more traditional approach of passing out paper after paper. I came out of that class a different person, similar to those that endure a truly traumatic experience, like war, a car accident, or a Lindsay Lohan movie (shout out to Axel). I swore, "never again".

Cut to July 2009. I'm registering for my classes and my advisor tells me I need to take the Social Psych course, taught ONLY by none other than Dr. Bell. Being clubbed like a baby seal seemed like a viable option at that moment. Less than a month is left for the semester to come to a close, and the only thing keeping me going is the image of a fat doobie waiting for me at the end of the road. After each completed assignment, one step closer, my brain releases those happy hormones and I jump and scream and do a little jig of excitement.

I will say this though. I have learned quite a bit, and have developed skills that might come in handy in my later life, not caring what Dr. Bell has to say about it. But I do wonder, if i would be willing to do it all over again, you know, with my new 20/20 vision.