It's funny the secrets that people will allow themselves to pour out in a writing class such as mine. Since it's a personal essay class, every thing we write about is essentially true. Knowing this, a group of people can get close pretty quick. Tonight, for example, I had to critique a classmate's 15-page essay on his obsession with porn...which was...quite graphic. I wondered, as I scribbled comments and edits in the margins, how this essay might be perceived by another classmate, who in the first month admitted to having a sexual addiction problem. And what would Seth, another classmate, who said on the first day "Seth likes sex!" be thinking? Or the woman who is all about Jesus and always sits in the corner?
It truly is like therapy. A safe room where we can tell anything, or nearly anything, to each other.
Anyway, I'm feeling like a fatty post-Thanksgiving. I know I've reached a certain point when I suggest to my roomie that we need to hit the gym. But the weekend was fantastic, filled with just the right amount of food, classic family potty humor, rest and beautiful weather.
"Joanna, when you putt, you look like you're sitting on the toilet."
Ah...family!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Hey Jo. Seems like your writing class is a real hoot. The pervs and the prudes could learn a thing or two from each other. I'm curious what you finally decided to write about?
Post me an email address if you prefer. That's a ball worth rolling, dontcha think?
Post a Comment