Nevada Writer

Dream—Grades

by Melanie on 22/12/07 at 5:26 pm

I dreamed that Chris Coake gave me a zero for a grade on one of my six-page, single spaced (this is dreamscape material, I never really did this) story critiques. He wrote all over it in red pen, ripping me up and down.

I just checked and found out that Chris had actually given me an A for the semester. This reminds me of the time at UofA when I dreamed I was getting a F- in history. I could see the large letter clearly in my mind’s eye. When I went to class, our teacher gave us a lecture before handing out the grades. He told us that we were all over the place with our writing. We didn’t make sense, and our arguments were not cogent. Something to that effect. I distinctly remember that with every remark and reprimand, I felt he was speaking directly to me, and I could imagine the places in my paper where I wasn’t clear, or I hadn’t made a cogent argument. I sucked. I was awful! I was a failure and a half! Why had I bothered going to school! I started to sink lower and lower in my seat. It was one of those wood and metal desks that have the small, student desk attached to the top by a curving metal bar. The seats were arranged stadium style in rows that ascended toward the back of the room, about six or seven rows in all, perhaps seating up to about 60 or 70 students. A typical, smallish, lecture hall. My knees jutted out as I sunk lower and lower. As the shame washed over me, my head bowed and by the end of the professor’s rant, I was barely looking out above the edge of the desk. I think I’d turned sideways and was staring at the wall, aimlessly, foreseeing doom. He ended by saying that our inability to write well reflected our inability to think. My brain was messed up! I couldn’t even think!

As it turned out, I had an A, perhaps the best grade in the class. I attribute that to reading The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White, and internalizing the concept of putting coordinate elements in coordinate style. My paper was actually pretty well organized. I took the class, my one foray into English and French history, to fulfill a requirement and because it was one of the cards left available as I went through the signup lines. I really liked my teacher and the class.

I also dreamed about my dogs, Angel kept getting loose and running down the street. Angel was conflated with Tonny, as Angel had a leg amputated. I was working with a group of people who all seemed to be staying (living) in one place. They were advocating for some cause and were going to go before a town council, perhaps the Gardnerville/Minden board. It was my dream Gardnerville/Minden, like my dream Tønsberg. Not like the real one, but has the essence of it somehow.

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