Somehow the "Ask Polly" answer to a letter that begins "I hate men" devolves into "Fuck dioramas, that’s all. Public school is a never-ending scourge of dioramas."

"They drain your fucking time and your will to live, and for what? So your kid learns that clay figures fall to pieces once they’re fully dry? So your kid learns how to cry big salty tears at the sight of a little polar-bear head rolling right off a little polar-bear body, and screams, 'THIS IS SO UNFAIR! NOW I HAVE TO START ALL OVER AGAIN!' My husband is no help when this happens. He’s a professor of education, so he really fixates on the stupidity of these things. His ass drops out onto the floor every time he catches wind of another diorama assignment. That leaves me to coach my kid. And honestly, sometimes I just want to tell her, 'Look, the whole world is stupid and selfish and lazy and nukes are about to rain down on us, so why even make another goddamn polar bear? Maybe it’s time to start experimenting with getting less than an A. You know I won’t mind. See how it feels! Try it on for size.' But I do have some restraint. So instead, I tell her, 'Dioramas, like all arbitrary, tedious, pointless educational exercises, require a higher level of Zen. You must expect pain and ruin, toil and suffering, and you must let go. Surrender to the excruciating nothingness of the task at hand, and try to enjoy it, knowing it was designed to crush your will and render you enraged and jaded and all alone in your pain. The real point of this bullshit, at least the point as far as WE are concerned, is to find some way to enjoy it, in spite of how stupid it is. So take your time, and focus on savoring every hideous moment of this.'"

That's in New York Magazine. The relationships/diorama analogy.

I think it means: Drop out of school and embrace solitude.