Two Heads Are Better Than One

Yello!
You guessed it, school is back on. And yeah, I’m definitely feeling the kick, but I think I’m in a better mood towards school than usual. I also have this massive case of writer’s block it’s not funny. Writer’s block is frustrating and depressing and such a pain. I feel like I want to get somewhere but something is blocking me, have you ever had one of those dreams?

Anyhoozies, I would like to pose a question. Why is it so darn hard to work in a group for some of us? I mean, who ever came up with the notion that two heads are better than one may have not been referring to my group at school. So we’re writing this report and it’s got introductions and results and stuff like that, you get it. Firsties, the whole ‘group’ only pitches on the day before d-day and then every thing is fine for the first 2 hours...you know, we’re laughing and making jokes in between work. But then, I start to get agitated after that and start digging up the ‘blame wizard’ who paints the slackers with his wand.

We’re pushing the third hour, it’s getting dark and I’m cranky. I’m sitting next to Martha and Harris and they have, ever since the meeting started, been attending classes at the “Flirt Academy”. Harris can’t stop flirting with Martha and Martha will not stop giggling. So I look at these two and go, “Kiss already!” (In my head obviously).

Hour four...dum dum dum. I feel like strangling a teddy. Martha is about to type in the references, you know, that last part in a report where you acknowledge the literature you used. Martha has no idea where to start! “Where on Roy’s mother’s grey hair have you been going to school this past year Martha?!” I scream in my head. It’s almost 7 in the evening, its dark out and Martha still hasn’t a clue what to do. In reality, she is still giggling to Harris’ flirtation mechanism but in my head, I’m thinking of how much therapy I would get by strangling her. I take in a deep breath about to jump in and make my thoughts a reality, but then I remember, WWJD (what would Jesus do). Then I smack a smile on my disturbed face and go, “Martha, I’ll handle the references.”

You see what I mean? I’m lucky I made it out of there without hand cuffs. Of course Martha and Harris are pseudo names. I can’t understand why I’m always in weird situations like this. Does it come with the territory of having a name like Ziggie? Is any one out there thinking the same?

‘Till next time...bye!