Possible reasons for my current insomnia:
1. My blanket is too short. It's the perfect weight for 80 degree, albeit air-conditioned, fanned circumstances, but it's too short. My grandma had it made for me when I was a baby, and while I'm sure it was quite adequate back then, it's not entirely suitable for a 5'10" 20-year-old who can only sleep sprawled out like a drunken sailor.
2. Aforementioned fan is bothering me. Whenever I close my eyes I find myself waiting for the fan to oscillate until it's blowing in my face. The fan haunts my thoughts. It's blowing on my desk chair...now my dresser...now my feet...now my face...now my nightstand...now back to my face. And yet, I can't sleep without the darn fan. It's a cruel, cruel situation.
3. I keep thinking of my plans for today. And boy, do I have plans. Strawberry picking with Mom, strawberry jam making with Mom, cleaning my bathroom, cleaning my room, doing laundry, mowing around the trees (that's right; my mother is officially taking advantage of my newly-discovered mowing finesse), working out, reading more Hemingway, attempting to add some color to my translucent skin, feeling guilty about raising my chances of getting skin cancer in 25 years, watching Whale Wars (and wondering, for the zillionth time, how much of the show is legal, and how it even gets broadcasted considering all of the clearly illegal content. Possibly because it's only broadcasted AFTER the fact? Does that make a difference? I think so. I think so. Will look into this.).
It's a full life I lead.
4. I have a mosquito bite. On my cheek.
5. It's July 1st. Is the entire state shut down?
6. Austria. I'm worried about money, my friends. Especially considering the exchange rate. Especially considering that payroll is down at Target, due to nearby road construction. Especially considering that payroll will likely continue to be down for quite a while, as the state shutdown will postpone said road construction indefinitely.
7. I should brush up on my German. I will be so very disappointed in myself if I get to Austria and end up doing poorly on the German placement test and thus end up back in Beginning German. But it's difficult to study by myself, out of a textbook. To quiz myself by myself, out of a textbook. I don't know how Laura Ingalls Wilder did it.
That's it, I'm giving up. I'm getting up.
Showing posts with label Studying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Studying. Show all posts
Friday, July 1, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
No DisreSPECT, John Green
I just finished reading...
This:
I bought it from HPB a few summers ago, and only just got to it because it's the week before finals week, and because during the week before finals week, I need to read something uncomplicated.
Unluckily, An Abundance of Katherines is not uncomplicated. It contains math. Theorems.
Luckily, I loved it anyway.
Although not as much as Looking For Alaska (which, to be fair, is a top notch book. Hard to beat). An Abundance of Katherines was original, yes, but what confused me was the way John Green (author) squeezed in a moral right at the end. The moral (I'm paraphrasing here) was that it's easy to become so caught up in a goal (being world-famous, being popular, etc.) that you don't remember why you wanted that thing (to be world-famous, to be popular, etc.) in the first place.
Here's the actual quote: "Maybe life is not about accomplishing some (kidscoveryoureyesquicklynow) bullshit markers."
And that's a great moral, truly it is. My problem was that I didn't get a sense throughout the book that the characters were trying too hard to accomplish -stupid- markers. In retrospect, yeah, but not in spect. Unfortunately, my friends, the spect is where I should be noticing things.
I almost think that the theorem, and the Katherine thing, and Hassan being awesome, and the Lindsey love story, and the (kidsagainpleaselookaway) tampon string factory crisis, and the road trip, and etc. distracted me from the point of the novel. Which is bad. An Abundance of Katherines tried to be about 10 different novels at once.
Whereas my spect's maximum is one.
This:
I bought it from HPB a few summers ago, and only just got to it because it's the week before finals week, and because during the week before finals week, I need to read something uncomplicated.
Unluckily, An Abundance of Katherines is not uncomplicated. It contains math. Theorems.
Luckily, I loved it anyway.
Although not as much as Looking For Alaska (which, to be fair, is a top notch book. Hard to beat). An Abundance of Katherines was original, yes, but what confused me was the way John Green (author) squeezed in a moral right at the end. The moral (I'm paraphrasing here) was that it's easy to become so caught up in a goal (being world-famous, being popular, etc.) that you don't remember why you wanted that thing (to be world-famous, to be popular, etc.) in the first place.
Here's the actual quote: "Maybe life is not about accomplishing some (kidscoveryoureyesquicklynow) bullshit markers."
And that's a great moral, truly it is. My problem was that I didn't get a sense throughout the book that the characters were trying too hard to accomplish -stupid- markers. In retrospect, yeah, but not in spect. Unfortunately, my friends, the spect is where I should be noticing things.
I almost think that the theorem, and the Katherine thing, and Hassan being awesome, and the Lindsey love story, and the (kidsagainpleaselookaway) tampon string factory crisis, and the road trip, and etc. distracted me from the point of the novel. Which is bad. An Abundance of Katherines tried to be about 10 different novels at once.
Whereas my spect's maximum is one.
Friday, April 29, 2011
In Which I Sleep Through a Royal Wedding
Yes, I watched.
Actually, if I'm going to be completely honest (and you know I'm going to be, or I wouldn't have said anything), I meant to watch William and Kate's wedding. I had my alarm set for 5; I was going to roll out of bed, grab my pillow and comforter, and head down a few floors to the TV Lounge (which contains an adequate-for-royal-wedding-viewing sized TV), where I would wait breathlessly for the ceremony to begin.
Here's what actually happened: I was up until 2:30 a.m. this morning studying for a German test I had this afternoon. Ergo, when my alarm went off at 5 (after only 2 and a half hours of sleep), I told myself "five more minutes, and then I'll go downstairs," rolled over, and fell back asleep. The next time I regained consciousness, it was 6:50. Luckily, I was able to make it out of bed that time and managed to catch the entire balcony scene. Kiss one AND kiss two. (This strikes me as a good sign; Diana and Charles only kissed once, and look where they ended up).
This brings me to my current position: I'm waiting for the taped wedding ceremony video to load on Mac. I'm a little disappointed that I missed seeing it live, but I'm sure my German grade will be better for it.
In other royal-related news, I had a long discussion at work today with a professor who seemed to think that Queen Elizabeth arranged for Diana's murder. The way she put it, Diana was dating someone who was not British, not Christian, and not aristocratic. She was an embarrassment to the royal family, and clearly, she had to go. My reaction? Polite, contained disbelief. Maybe it's true that the Queen did not like Diana. But I absolutely refuse to consider her a possible murderer! Maybe I'm too stubbornly stuck in my romantic ideals concerning monarchy, and maybe I put too much faith in the accuracy of the movie "The Queen," but I can't help it. Queen Elizabeth is above such nonsense. She is a sweet, compassionate woman who would never orchestrate something that could harm her grandsons in such a large way. The driver of Diana's car was drunk, and they were being pursued by the paparazzi. It was a tragic accident that will be remembered forever, but I am quickly becoming sick of all the conspiracy theories surrounding it. Why can't people ever just let the deceased be deceased? Why do they have to keep dragging them back for round 2 and 3 and 4 and etc.?
Well, anyway, I don't want to spoil this beautiful day with my morbid rantings. Here's hoping that Kate and William will have all the blessings wished upon them by both the living and the dead.
P.S. (Dress rave) It was absolutely gorgeous, wasn't it? I loved the lacy long-sleeved look. Very cathedral-appropriate, but not matronly or anything. (Funny story) I was just watching a video clip of Kate arriving at the Abbey, and as soon as she got out of the car, the video host started squealing nonstop about her dress. She literally shrieked quite a few times. I had to switch videos because my ear drums were starting to ache.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Laundry Blues
I hate doing laundry.
I hate walking down 8 flights of stairs to do it, I hate bumping into people on the way, and I hate walking back up again only to walk back down again 38 minutes later to throw my clothes into the dryer.
I hate that people will dump your clothes if you are even 5 minutes late to get them.
I hate that I always spill a bit of detergent, and that when I try to clean it up (because there's a sign saying you have to and because it's Lent and my religion teacher at St. John's taught us that Lent is the season for random acts of kindness. Or was it Advent?) it's slimy and gets on my hands and then I smell like mountain spring for the rest of the week.
I hate that when I want to hang up some clothes in our room, the only place for the drying rack is in the middle of everything, and that I can hardly move without tripping over said drying rack.
I hate that the only thing I have to say on a Saturday night is how much I hate doing laundry.
When I'm out in the real world, and looking for an apartment, please (I'm begging you) don't let me get one without an in-suite washer/dryer. I don't care if they're in a closet, I don't care if they're in my bedroom. Just no stairs.
P.S. Night 3 (final) of Jazz Fest is tonight. I decided not to volunteer after all, but while I was sitting on my bed just now making art history flashcards, I thought it would be nice to listen to UMM's campus radio station's live broadcast of Jazz Fest. I turned to the channel, and was horrified to discover that apparently "live broadcast" means that the DJ talks incessantly in the foreground while muted jazz plays in the background. I began yelling at said DJ. Loudly. I was cruel. I insulted him (and maybe his mother once or twice). So I'm sorry, DJ. This is my public (enough) apology. But next time, just play the jazz, please.
I hate walking down 8 flights of stairs to do it, I hate bumping into people on the way, and I hate walking back up again only to walk back down again 38 minutes later to throw my clothes into the dryer.
I hate that people will dump your clothes if you are even 5 minutes late to get them.
I hate that I always spill a bit of detergent, and that when I try to clean it up (because there's a sign saying you have to and because it's Lent and my religion teacher at St. John's taught us that Lent is the season for random acts of kindness. Or was it Advent?) it's slimy and gets on my hands and then I smell like mountain spring for the rest of the week.
I hate that when I want to hang up some clothes in our room, the only place for the drying rack is in the middle of everything, and that I can hardly move without tripping over said drying rack.
I hate that the only thing I have to say on a Saturday night is how much I hate doing laundry.
When I'm out in the real world, and looking for an apartment, please (I'm begging you) don't let me get one without an in-suite washer/dryer. I don't care if they're in a closet, I don't care if they're in my bedroom. Just no stairs.
P.S. Night 3 (final) of Jazz Fest is tonight. I decided not to volunteer after all, but while I was sitting on my bed just now making art history flashcards, I thought it would be nice to listen to UMM's campus radio station's live broadcast of Jazz Fest. I turned to the channel, and was horrified to discover that apparently "live broadcast" means that the DJ talks incessantly in the foreground while muted jazz plays in the background. I began yelling at said DJ. Loudly. I was cruel. I insulted him (and maybe his mother once or twice). So I'm sorry, DJ. This is my public (enough) apology. But next time, just play the jazz, please.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Finals Week, Part III
Isn't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? It's Trinity Church, in Antarctica. I wasn't aware that they had churches in Antarctica, but I'm certainly glad they have this one.
P.S. I'm surviving. 2 papers left, one of which I'm currently working on.
P.P.S. I've been slowly building my reading list for Winter Break. I don't know if it's a realistic amount to read in a month, but I'm certainly going to try. Here's the list, in case you're interested. It's a combination of books I've never read, and books that I have read but absolutely HAVE to tuck into again:
1. The Remains of the Day
2. How to Win Friends and Influence People (hey don't judge! It could come in handy)
3. The Handmaid's Tale
4. Huck Finn
5. Little Women (I've literally read this book once a year since 3rd grade. I love it so very much)
6. Three Cups of Tea
7. Uglies (plus the rest of the series if I get hooked, which I'm sure I will)
8. Paper Towns
Monday, December 13, 2010
Finals Week, Part II
I'm on a study break. I tried to do an hour of straight memorizing American writers and their works and the terms that describe their works, and I barely made it.
It's only the first day of Finals Week, and my brain hurts.
Maybe because I spent all weekend (literally) trying to make a thesis based on an essay we read in Honors, based on one of the paper topics provided. It kept not working and not working until I finally realized that it was not going to work. So, I switched topics. At 2 a.m. this morning. Wrote until 5. Woke up at 10. Wrote until 3:30. Turned the paper in about fifteen minutes before it was due. And it was probably the worst paper I've ever written. Not for lack of effort, but because I didn't have time to make it good.
That's the worst thing about this semester, I think. I'm trying so hard but my grades still aren't where I'd like them to be because I don't have time to focus on one subject or one paper or one reading for very long; the others start calling to me before I have a chance to even sit and consider.
Now my brain hurts and I don't think I can spend much more time with this American Lit. stuff I'm currently doing.
But okay. Here's the plan:
Tonight: Finish typing up study guide for Am. Lit. Study study guide.
Tomorrow: German final 11-1, study Am. Litl, Am. Lit. final 4-6, Work on Understanding Writing paper, Writing Room work 7-7:30, Info. Desk work 8-10, Finish Understanding Writing paper
Wednesday: Social Science work 9:30-11:30, Think of an idea for/research/write Icelandic Sagas paper. All day. Get 'er done. Info. Desk work 6-8. Finish Icelandic Sagas paper. Preferably before 3 a.m.
Thursday: You're not done with Icelandic Sagas? You've got to be kidding me, Hol...well...you have until 4:30. WRITE. After 4:30, take a few cleansing breaths, collapse limply on bed, then get up and start packing. 7:30 Mom arrives. Load car. Go home. Sleep until Saturday.
It's 10:14. 4 minutes past my alloted break time. Must go.
It's only the first day of Finals Week, and my brain hurts.
Maybe because I spent all weekend (literally) trying to make a thesis based on an essay we read in Honors, based on one of the paper topics provided. It kept not working and not working until I finally realized that it was not going to work. So, I switched topics. At 2 a.m. this morning. Wrote until 5. Woke up at 10. Wrote until 3:30. Turned the paper in about fifteen minutes before it was due. And it was probably the worst paper I've ever written. Not for lack of effort, but because I didn't have time to make it good.
That's the worst thing about this semester, I think. I'm trying so hard but my grades still aren't where I'd like them to be because I don't have time to focus on one subject or one paper or one reading for very long; the others start calling to me before I have a chance to even sit and consider.
Now my brain hurts and I don't think I can spend much more time with this American Lit. stuff I'm currently doing.
But okay. Here's the plan:
Tonight: Finish typing up study guide for Am. Lit. Study study guide.
Tomorrow: German final 11-1, study Am. Litl, Am. Lit. final 4-6, Work on Understanding Writing paper, Writing Room work 7-7:30, Info. Desk work 8-10, Finish Understanding Writing paper
Wednesday: Social Science work 9:30-11:30, Think of an idea for/research/write Icelandic Sagas paper. All day. Get 'er done. Info. Desk work 6-8. Finish Icelandic Sagas paper. Preferably before 3 a.m.
Thursday: You're not done with Icelandic Sagas? You've got to be kidding me, Hol...well...you have until 4:30. WRITE. After 4:30, take a few cleansing breaths, collapse limply on bed, then get up and start packing. 7:30 Mom arrives. Load car. Go home. Sleep until Saturday.
It's 10:14. 4 minutes past my alloted break time. Must go.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
It's Only a Nightmare
I've decided that in lieu of posting about the nightmare that is finals, I'll post an actual nightmare that I had last winter (while sleeping).
I have to say though, for a nightmare, this one's actually pretty cool:
February 19, 2010
I had a nightmare last night. It began when I took a trip to India with some of my friends from Morris (Tim, Ally, Evan, Miles and Brockman were there for sure I remember). We were in this sort of room playing a traditional Indian game, when all of the sudden some of my friends from elementary school (Mara, Katie, and Colleen) walked in. I was really surprised to see them and we were all hugging and talking until my group had to leave.
Then the dream switched, and Tim, Ally, Evan and I were walking through a mall when we decided to stop at Barnes and Noble. We were disappointed to find that they had very few books; instead they were selling mostly Christmas decorations. I got really upset about this, and decided to untie the bow around a stuffed bear’s neck, even though the lady working there specifically warned us not to, as the bow could not be retied properly. After doing the deed, I hid the bear and we all ran out of the store and out to the car.
Not long after we had left, I felt really guilty about what I had done, so I went back in and offered to pay for the bear. While the worker lady was ringing it up, I wrote a nasty note complaining about the store’s lack of books and was about to put it in the suggestion box when the lady came up behind me and was reading it. She looked sort of sad and said that she agreed with me, but that the decorations would be taken out soon and replaced with actual books. I felt bad and threw the note away and left the store with my bear.
Back in the car (I don’t know who was driving, but Ally, Evan and I were squished in the back seat), we decided to go to a fancy restaurant, but we didn’t know how to get there. Someone remembered that Maggie Smith (yes, the British actress) lived in town, and suggested that we go to her house to ask for directions. We pulled into the road in front of her house, and saw that her chauffer was washing a black Ferrari in her driveway.
I decided to be the one to go up and ring the doorbell while everyone else waited in the car. The house itself was rather small and dumpy, and when Maggie Smith came to the door and invited me in, she went and sat down on a small footstool in front of the TV and offered me one beside her. I could see two comfortable-looking armchairs across the room, and asked her why she didn’t move those in front of the TV. She just shrugged.
All of the sudden, Maggie Smith sort of tensed up, and the chauffer came running in. They both started speaking in frightened voices about something that was coming, though they wouldn’t tell me what it was. Then they tried to tell me where to go hide, but I was having trouble understanding them. I finally got out of them that they wanted me to run across the backyard and into the backyard of the house across the way. I was to lie facedown on the neighbor’s porch steps, and it was very important that I DIDN’T OPEN MY EYES no matter what.
I did as they told me to, running as fast as I could, though it was uphill and I kept tripping. Once I got to the porch steps, I saw that there was a small child playing on them. I threw myself on top of her and covered her eyes with my hands so she wouldn’t peek either. She struggled, and I felt like a monster holding her down, but at that point I could feel the presence of something, and I was scared to death.
I was telling myself so hard not to open my eyes that I couldn’t help doing so, and as soon as I did I knew that I was in trouble. I felt a rush in the air, and as I began to run I was lifted up several feet, and the very sky seemed to turn purple. I remember knowing that I was about to be killed by this sort of monster…and then I woke up.
I have to say though, for a nightmare, this one's actually pretty cool:
February 19, 2010
I had a nightmare last night. It began when I took a trip to India with some of my friends from Morris (Tim, Ally, Evan, Miles and Brockman were there for sure I remember). We were in this sort of room playing a traditional Indian game, when all of the sudden some of my friends from elementary school (Mara, Katie, and Colleen) walked in. I was really surprised to see them and we were all hugging and talking until my group had to leave.
Then the dream switched, and Tim, Ally, Evan and I were walking through a mall when we decided to stop at Barnes and Noble. We were disappointed to find that they had very few books; instead they were selling mostly Christmas decorations. I got really upset about this, and decided to untie the bow around a stuffed bear’s neck, even though the lady working there specifically warned us not to, as the bow could not be retied properly. After doing the deed, I hid the bear and we all ran out of the store and out to the car.
Not long after we had left, I felt really guilty about what I had done, so I went back in and offered to pay for the bear. While the worker lady was ringing it up, I wrote a nasty note complaining about the store’s lack of books and was about to put it in the suggestion box when the lady came up behind me and was reading it. She looked sort of sad and said that she agreed with me, but that the decorations would be taken out soon and replaced with actual books. I felt bad and threw the note away and left the store with my bear.
Back in the car (I don’t know who was driving, but Ally, Evan and I were squished in the back seat), we decided to go to a fancy restaurant, but we didn’t know how to get there. Someone remembered that Maggie Smith (yes, the British actress) lived in town, and suggested that we go to her house to ask for directions. We pulled into the road in front of her house, and saw that her chauffer was washing a black Ferrari in her driveway.
I decided to be the one to go up and ring the doorbell while everyone else waited in the car. The house itself was rather small and dumpy, and when Maggie Smith came to the door and invited me in, she went and sat down on a small footstool in front of the TV and offered me one beside her. I could see two comfortable-looking armchairs across the room, and asked her why she didn’t move those in front of the TV. She just shrugged.
All of the sudden, Maggie Smith sort of tensed up, and the chauffer came running in. They both started speaking in frightened voices about something that was coming, though they wouldn’t tell me what it was. Then they tried to tell me where to go hide, but I was having trouble understanding them. I finally got out of them that they wanted me to run across the backyard and into the backyard of the house across the way. I was to lie facedown on the neighbor’s porch steps, and it was very important that I DIDN’T OPEN MY EYES no matter what.
I did as they told me to, running as fast as I could, though it was uphill and I kept tripping. Once I got to the porch steps, I saw that there was a small child playing on them. I threw myself on top of her and covered her eyes with my hands so she wouldn’t peek either. She struggled, and I felt like a monster holding her down, but at that point I could feel the presence of something, and I was scared to death.
I was telling myself so hard not to open my eyes that I couldn’t help doing so, and as soon as I did I knew that I was in trouble. I felt a rush in the air, and as I began to run I was lifted up several feet, and the very sky seemed to turn purple. I remember knowing that I was about to be killed by this sort of monster…and then I woke up.
Monday, December 6, 2010
1 a.m. Guitar
It's about 1 in the morning
And someone next door
is playing on a guitar
something that sounds Italian
or perhaps Spanish.
She continues to stop and start
trying to reach a difficult chord, maybe
but I don't mind.
I sit in the quiet in my room
listen to my roommate breathe
listen to the guitar
next door
and suddenly
finals seem very very small
the world is small
compared to the cold night
the soft guitar
and me.
And someone next door
is playing on a guitar
something that sounds Italian
or perhaps Spanish.
She continues to stop and start
trying to reach a difficult chord, maybe
but I don't mind.
I sit in the quiet in my room
listen to my roommate breathe
listen to the guitar
next door
and suddenly
finals seem very very small
the world is small
compared to the cold night
the soft guitar
and me.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Consequences of Folly
While writing the majority of a 10 page research paper at about 5 a.m. this morning (after having pulled at all-nighter), I was suddenly reminded of a certain chapter in Betsy Was a Junior, entitled "The Consequences of Folly:"
"We bought the paper covers and the glue and things ages ago."
"But then we forgot all about them."
"And now he wants them turned in tomorrow and he says they will count for one fourth of our year's marks! It's awful!" said Betsy, summarizing. "It's a perfectly awful situation!"
The rest of the Crowd had gone riding in Carney's auto, but Betsy, Tacy and Tib had not been able to go. They had come face to face at last with the matter of herbariums.
"'A herbarium,'" said Betsy, "'is a collection of dried and pressed specimens of plants, usually mounted or otherwise prepared for permanent preservation and systematically arranged in paper covers placed in boxes or cases.'"
"You know the definition all right," said Tib. "But you can't turn in a definition tomorrow."
"How many flowers did he say we had to have?"
"Fifty."
"We might as well tell him we haven't made them and all flunk the course," said practical Tib. "At least we can all take it again together in the fall."
"But we'll be seniors then!" cried Betsy. "I don't want to be in Gaston's biology again with all the juniors! Why don't we try to make the herbariums tonight? There have to be at least fifty kinds of flowers up on the Big Hill! We can label all night long."
Tacy's eyes began to shine. "Let's try. It would be fun."
"All right," said Tib. "I'm willing if you are. You can come, I think, but we can't let Papa and Mamma know we're awake all night."
After a long night of picking, drying, pasting, and labeling, along with discovering that there was a reason the herbariums had been assigned way back at the beginning of the year, Betsy, Tacy and Tib come to the very realization I came to at around 3 a.m. this morning:
"I think," said Tib, as they walked down Hill Street, "that this was an idiotic thing to do."
Betsy and Tacy grunted.
"Why, I realized last night that I would have enjoyed making a herbarium. I like to do that sort of thing. I could have made a good one."
"So could I," admitted Tacy.
"Well, I couldn't," said Betsy. "But I should have been interested at least. I'm crazy enough about flowers."
"We bought the paper covers and the glue and things ages ago."
"But then we forgot all about them."
"And now he wants them turned in tomorrow and he says they will count for one fourth of our year's marks! It's awful!" said Betsy, summarizing. "It's a perfectly awful situation!"
The rest of the Crowd had gone riding in Carney's auto, but Betsy, Tacy and Tib had not been able to go. They had come face to face at last with the matter of herbariums.
"'A herbarium,'" said Betsy, "'is a collection of dried and pressed specimens of plants, usually mounted or otherwise prepared for permanent preservation and systematically arranged in paper covers placed in boxes or cases.'"
"You know the definition all right," said Tib. "But you can't turn in a definition tomorrow."
"How many flowers did he say we had to have?"
"Fifty."
"We might as well tell him we haven't made them and all flunk the course," said practical Tib. "At least we can all take it again together in the fall."
"But we'll be seniors then!" cried Betsy. "I don't want to be in Gaston's biology again with all the juniors! Why don't we try to make the herbariums tonight? There have to be at least fifty kinds of flowers up on the Big Hill! We can label all night long."
Tacy's eyes began to shine. "Let's try. It would be fun."
"All right," said Tib. "I'm willing if you are. You can come, I think, but we can't let Papa and Mamma know we're awake all night."
After a long night of picking, drying, pasting, and labeling, along with discovering that there was a reason the herbariums had been assigned way back at the beginning of the year, Betsy, Tacy and Tib come to the very realization I came to at around 3 a.m. this morning:
"I think," said Tib, as they walked down Hill Street, "that this was an idiotic thing to do."
Betsy and Tacy grunted.
"Why, I realized last night that I would have enjoyed making a herbarium. I like to do that sort of thing. I could have made a good one."
"So could I," admitted Tacy.
"Well, I couldn't," said Betsy. "But I should have been interested at least. I'm crazy enough about flowers."
Monday, May 10, 2010
An Education
When I was younger and being particularly sassy or stubborn or (insert form of disobedience here), my mom would roll her eyes upwards and mutter imploringly, "God give me strength." It was only then that I paused in my naughtiness and took in the gravity of my actions; if Mom was praying, I must really be hurting her.
I've caught myself doing the same upward eye roll and soft plea lately, and I'm finding it quite helpful. It gives me a split second of perspective, and sometimes that's all I need to cool off and view the situation with new eyes.
Finals went fine. My Brit Lit one went particularly well, I think. We were given 4 passages, and we had to identify the period they were from, and analyze them based on the values of that period. Extra credit for correctly identifying the author/title of the passage. I am happy to report that I received all possible extra credit.
Crusades was trickier. I didn't study as hard for that final, although I did reread all 98 pages from the unit. I wasn't as familiar with the primary sources as I should have been, so my essay was lacking in that department. Oh, well. I learned so much in that class that I'm just going to be satisfied with that. Not that my overall grade will be low (a B+, I'm guessing), it just won't be the A I had hoped for.
You know what, though? I've worked hard this semester. Maybe not as hard as I possibly could have, but I haven't slacked off. I'm going to study for my Anthropology final and head home for a well-deserved summer break.
I've caught myself doing the same upward eye roll and soft plea lately, and I'm finding it quite helpful. It gives me a split second of perspective, and sometimes that's all I need to cool off and view the situation with new eyes.
Finals went fine. My Brit Lit one went particularly well, I think. We were given 4 passages, and we had to identify the period they were from, and analyze them based on the values of that period. Extra credit for correctly identifying the author/title of the passage. I am happy to report that I received all possible extra credit.
Crusades was trickier. I didn't study as hard for that final, although I did reread all 98 pages from the unit. I wasn't as familiar with the primary sources as I should have been, so my essay was lacking in that department. Oh, well. I learned so much in that class that I'm just going to be satisfied with that. Not that my overall grade will be low (a B+, I'm guessing), it just won't be the A I had hoped for.
You know what, though? I've worked hard this semester. Maybe not as hard as I possibly could have, but I haven't slacked off. I'm going to study for my Anthropology final and head home for a well-deserved summer break.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Katherine Mansfield
Exactly thirty-three minutes ago marked the beginning of Finals Week. Appropriately, I've been studying more or less all day.
It's gotten to the point where I feel like I'm melting into the bed on which I'm sprawled, and my nose, which nearly touches my open British Literature Anthology in earnestness, is simply sinking into its pages.
Then of course I have to sit up, make the awkward half-leap from bed to chair to floor, and hurry into the hallway under pretense of getting a drink. There, in the semi-darkness, I can breathe again.
Another result of my prolonged time in our small dorm room is that I am now well attuned to Ally's coughs. She has a cold of some sort, and every time I hear a sharp intake of air from her loft, I brace myself for the short hacking cough that follows. Each one lasts no longer than a second, but every so often there will be several of them in a row. It is then that I have to hunch down against my papers and close my eyes.
I'm still plugging away, though. One 750-word Brit. Lit. Essay, and 58 pages of reading in my crusades book left. Then I can shower and fall into sleep.
It's funny, but sometimes I long so much to be at home that I throw myself into my work in order to make Wednesday come faster. Other times I forget why I even want to leave. Why would I leave this life of friends and school, where my only real job is to learn as much as I can, and retain some semblance of what I learn?
I feel like the vague hero in some Shakespeare play. Hamlet, maybe? "To study, or not to study, that is the question!"
It's no question, really, I know. Still, I think it's one I'll be constantly asking myself until all is done.
You can go back to whatever you're doing now. But before you drop into your recliner, the TV remote stuck to your hand with a crust of popcorn grease and relaxation, please throw a few thoughts back for me. I'll be here.
P.S. Forgive the desperate title. It's the author of the short story I'm analyzing for my essay.
It's gotten to the point where I feel like I'm melting into the bed on which I'm sprawled, and my nose, which nearly touches my open British Literature Anthology in earnestness, is simply sinking into its pages.
Then of course I have to sit up, make the awkward half-leap from bed to chair to floor, and hurry into the hallway under pretense of getting a drink. There, in the semi-darkness, I can breathe again.
Another result of my prolonged time in our small dorm room is that I am now well attuned to Ally's coughs. She has a cold of some sort, and every time I hear a sharp intake of air from her loft, I brace myself for the short hacking cough that follows. Each one lasts no longer than a second, but every so often there will be several of them in a row. It is then that I have to hunch down against my papers and close my eyes.
I'm still plugging away, though. One 750-word Brit. Lit. Essay, and 58 pages of reading in my crusades book left. Then I can shower and fall into sleep.
It's funny, but sometimes I long so much to be at home that I throw myself into my work in order to make Wednesday come faster. Other times I forget why I even want to leave. Why would I leave this life of friends and school, where my only real job is to learn as much as I can, and retain some semblance of what I learn?
I feel like the vague hero in some Shakespeare play. Hamlet, maybe? "To study, or not to study, that is the question!"
It's no question, really, I know. Still, I think it's one I'll be constantly asking myself until all is done.
You can go back to whatever you're doing now. But before you drop into your recliner, the TV remote stuck to your hand with a crust of popcorn grease and relaxation, please throw a few thoughts back for me. I'll be here.
P.S. Forgive the desperate title. It's the author of the short story I'm analyzing for my essay.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Final
I just sniffed my shirt. I smell like smoke and the outdoors. Perfect.
Today was the Pine Hall Picnic. It was really fun. Kelsie and I worked the grill, and everyone just chilled and ate. Later on we took a Pine photo with all of the residents and CA's crammed onto the stairs/fire escape.
We limboed
We danced
We walked casually through each other's photo shoots
We joked
We chased stray wrappers across the mini mall
The best part,though, was the fact that everyone was together enjoying themselves. All the drama and cliques sort of melted away and we became one hall again.
It's 4:01 p.m. and I'm finally about to buckle down and study for my finals. I have Brit. Lit. and Crusades on Monday, and Physical Anthropology on Wednesday.
It was definitely worth it to hang out outside for awhile, though. Studying can be done later, but having a blast with people you're going to miss over the summer is a one time deal.
Today was the Pine Hall Picnic. It was really fun. Kelsie and I worked the grill, and everyone just chilled and ate. Later on we took a Pine photo with all of the residents and CA's crammed onto the stairs/fire escape.
We limboed
We danced
We walked casually through each other's photo shoots
We joked
We chased stray wrappers across the mini mall
The best part,though, was the fact that everyone was together enjoying themselves. All the drama and cliques sort of melted away and we became one hall again.
It's 4:01 p.m. and I'm finally about to buckle down and study for my finals. I have Brit. Lit. and Crusades on Monday, and Physical Anthropology on Wednesday.
It was definitely worth it to hang out outside for awhile, though. Studying can be done later, but having a blast with people you're going to miss over the summer is a one time deal.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
What E.M. Forster Believes
(that sounds sensible to me as well):
"There is something incalculable in each of us, which may at any moment rise to the surface and destroy our normal balance. We don't know what we are like. We can't know what other people are like."
What a smarty.
Unfortunately, however, good old E.M. has been giving me problems this week. You see, I'm attempting to write a paper for Brit. Lit. that not only analyzes a theme/motif from "Passage to India," but ties said theme/motif to an idea in Forster's essay "What I Believe." It sounds simple enough, I guess, but I'm having a lot of trouble with my thesis. I think the motif I've chosen is completely fascinating and original, but it's such a huge, complex topic that it's hard to define. I wish I could explain better, but if you haven't read both the essay and the book it won't make much sense.
Suffice to say, E.M. and I aren't on speaking terms right now, despite the fact that he is quoted quite frequently in my paper.
Oh, I also worked my last training shift at the information desk tonight. I enjoy working there, and I can't wait until I get to do it alone. While it's nice to have someone there in case I have a question, I tend to like to be in control, and to to do things my way (within reason).
There goes the train. I hear it a few times a night (usually in the wee hours) when it goes through Morris. Such a wailing, lonely sound. For some reason it always makes me sad to think about trains slowly disappearing as a mode of transportation. We built the West on trains. We blazed through mountains, and destroyed beautiful wilderness, and created a livelihood with trains, and even though it was sad when they arrived, it's just as sad that they're leaving. It's as if the West is dying with them, and instead of expanding our borders, we'll now look to some other, alien form of growth. I'm not sure I even want to know what the new method will be.
Nothing gold can stay, I guess.
"There is something incalculable in each of us, which may at any moment rise to the surface and destroy our normal balance. We don't know what we are like. We can't know what other people are like."
What a smarty.
Unfortunately, however, good old E.M. has been giving me problems this week. You see, I'm attempting to write a paper for Brit. Lit. that not only analyzes a theme/motif from "Passage to India," but ties said theme/motif to an idea in Forster's essay "What I Believe." It sounds simple enough, I guess, but I'm having a lot of trouble with my thesis. I think the motif I've chosen is completely fascinating and original, but it's such a huge, complex topic that it's hard to define. I wish I could explain better, but if you haven't read both the essay and the book it won't make much sense.
Suffice to say, E.M. and I aren't on speaking terms right now, despite the fact that he is quoted quite frequently in my paper.
Oh, I also worked my last training shift at the information desk tonight. I enjoy working there, and I can't wait until I get to do it alone. While it's nice to have someone there in case I have a question, I tend to like to be in control, and to to do things my way (within reason).
There goes the train. I hear it a few times a night (usually in the wee hours) when it goes through Morris. Such a wailing, lonely sound. For some reason it always makes me sad to think about trains slowly disappearing as a mode of transportation. We built the West on trains. We blazed through mountains, and destroyed beautiful wilderness, and created a livelihood with trains, and even though it was sad when they arrived, it's just as sad that they're leaving. It's as if the West is dying with them, and instead of expanding our borders, we'll now look to some other, alien form of growth. I'm not sure I even want to know what the new method will be.
Nothing gold can stay, I guess.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I Want to Tell You
I want to tell you
My head is filled with things to say
Sometimes I wish I knew you well,
Then I could speak my mind and tell you
Maybe you'd understand
is the song I'm currently listening to.
What I'm thinking about, however, is how wonderful this weekend has been, and how my 19 year old self has temporarily disappeared. I've played on the playgrounds of Morris this weekend. I've walked the streets, laughing. I've played kick the can and freeze tag. I've fallen, getting grass stains all over the legs of my jeans. I've seen UFO's shoot across the sky, lit up like stars. I've gotten sweaty and dirty, and my hair has come loose from its ponytail. I've run, I've jumped, I've climbed, I've been outside morning to night. I've gone to bed exhausted. I've had the time of my life, in a few words.
Now I suppose I have to go back to the semi-seriousness of studying, and of being a mature college student.
Can't wait for next weekend, though.
My head is filled with things to say
Sometimes I wish I knew you well,
Then I could speak my mind and tell you
Maybe you'd understand
is the song I'm currently listening to.
What I'm thinking about, however, is how wonderful this weekend has been, and how my 19 year old self has temporarily disappeared. I've played on the playgrounds of Morris this weekend. I've walked the streets, laughing. I've played kick the can and freeze tag. I've fallen, getting grass stains all over the legs of my jeans. I've seen UFO's shoot across the sky, lit up like stars. I've gotten sweaty and dirty, and my hair has come loose from its ponytail. I've run, I've jumped, I've climbed, I've been outside morning to night. I've gone to bed exhausted. I've had the time of my life, in a few words.
Now I suppose I have to go back to the semi-seriousness of studying, and of being a mature college student.
Can't wait for next weekend, though.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch
Our sleepy heroine is up studying for a Crusades test.
Saladin? Baldwin IV ("The Leper King")? I know 'em.
Had an argument about true love with Tim earlier. I argued for. I wish I could say I won, but he's being awfully stubborn.
Was in the library for 2 hours tonight. What a lovely place, there against the window. It was dark enough so I couldn't be distracted by passing students or waving grass.
I'm also back on Facebook (gave it up for Lent, as I might not have mentioned).
Someone chatted me at about 1 a.m. and said some really nice, unexpected things.
It's always horrible when you only really get to know someone right before they leave.
I know this post is random, but it's almost 4 a.m. There's no way I'm taking the time to properly organize my thoughts and ideas at 4 a.m. 3:30, maybe. 4:00, definitely not.
In other Facebook news, I made a rash friend request today, and now I wish I hadn't made it. He's just someone that I seem to see in Food Service everyday. I don't know that I've ever talked to him, but tonight I decided to look him up (i.e. slightly stalk him), and his photos are really cool! He's been mountain climbing all over, and on all sorts of outdoor, campy adventures. So, I thought I'd just friend request. I like being friends with interesting people. I hope he says yes. Most of all, I hope he doesn't come up to me in Food Service and say, "Who the heck are you?!"
I suppose I should give you a poem.
To heck with what I said before; I love poetry, and if I want to post it on my blog, I certainly should!
This won't be original, though, just to warn you.
God's Grandeur (by Gerard Manley Hopkins)
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Read this poem out loud. Seriously, just do it. I love the way words like "bleared," "smeared," "smudge," and "ooze" feel on the tongue.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Saladin? Baldwin IV ("The Leper King")? I know 'em.
Had an argument about true love with Tim earlier. I argued for. I wish I could say I won, but he's being awfully stubborn.
Was in the library for 2 hours tonight. What a lovely place, there against the window. It was dark enough so I couldn't be distracted by passing students or waving grass.
I'm also back on Facebook (gave it up for Lent, as I might not have mentioned).
Someone chatted me at about 1 a.m. and said some really nice, unexpected things.
It's always horrible when you only really get to know someone right before they leave.
I know this post is random, but it's almost 4 a.m. There's no way I'm taking the time to properly organize my thoughts and ideas at 4 a.m. 3:30, maybe. 4:00, definitely not.
In other Facebook news, I made a rash friend request today, and now I wish I hadn't made it. He's just someone that I seem to see in Food Service everyday. I don't know that I've ever talked to him, but tonight I decided to look him up (i.e. slightly stalk him), and his photos are really cool! He's been mountain climbing all over, and on all sorts of outdoor, campy adventures. So, I thought I'd just friend request. I like being friends with interesting people. I hope he says yes. Most of all, I hope he doesn't come up to me in Food Service and say, "Who the heck are you?!"
I suppose I should give you a poem.
To heck with what I said before; I love poetry, and if I want to post it on my blog, I certainly should!
This won't be original, though, just to warn you.
God's Grandeur (by Gerard Manley Hopkins)
THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
Read this poem out loud. Seriously, just do it. I love the way words like "bleared," "smeared," "smudge," and "ooze" feel on the tongue.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Allow Me To Share
The amount of stress I'm experiencing right now is unbelievable. As such, I've decided to relieve myself of a bit of it by passing it on to you.
Here's how:
I write out a list of everything in my life that is stressing me out currently.
You read the list.
You clap your hands 8 times, kiss each knee once, and exhale deeply.
Don't worry; the cranial pressure is natural.
THINGS I'M STRESSED ABOUT:
1. CMR test on Thursday
2. Physical Anthropology test on Friday
3. Crusades Historiography project due Friday
4. U.R. article due tomorrow at noon
5. OGL application due April 2nd
6. Honors program application due March 26th
7. Taxes due in April
8. Brit. Lit. reading assignment due Thursday
9. I need to get my laundry done before going home for Spring Break
10. I haven't been getting enough sleep
11. I need a job
12. Two of my best friends (who had been dating for about 6 months) broke up last night. One of them happens to be my roommate. I don't think that this exactly falls into the stress department, but I'm so worried about her, and she's so sad that she's bringing me down as well.
So there you are. Midterm week and all is not well in Hollyworld. I know that I can do everything individually, but I don't know if I can do all of it at once.
Oh, well. I just have to get through 3 more days alive and I'm out of the woods for a week.
Here's how:
I write out a list of everything in my life that is stressing me out currently.
You read the list.
You clap your hands 8 times, kiss each knee once, and exhale deeply.
Don't worry; the cranial pressure is natural.
THINGS I'M STRESSED ABOUT:
1. CMR test on Thursday
2. Physical Anthropology test on Friday
3. Crusades Historiography project due Friday
4. U.R. article due tomorrow at noon
5. OGL application due April 2nd
6. Honors program application due March 26th
7. Taxes due in April
8. Brit. Lit. reading assignment due Thursday
9. I need to get my laundry done before going home for Spring Break
10. I haven't been getting enough sleep
11. I need a job
12. Two of my best friends (who had been dating for about 6 months) broke up last night. One of them happens to be my roommate. I don't think that this exactly falls into the stress department, but I'm so worried about her, and she's so sad that she's bringing me down as well.
So there you are. Midterm week and all is not well in Hollyworld. I know that I can do everything individually, but I don't know if I can do all of it at once.
Oh, well. I just have to get through 3 more days alive and I'm out of the woods for a week.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
A Mellow Post For a Mellow Day
It's been an extremely low key day, despite some confusion on my part (though that's certainly nothing new).
Classes were so-so, breaks between classes were 20 minutes of gathering books and trying to finish reading Pride and Prejudice, and conversations with friends were limited to texts (see only 20 minutes between classes).
Now I'm sitting in the Student Center tabling for Support the U Day. Tabling is exactly what it sounds like; you sit at a table decked out with bright posters and candy incentives and hassle passers-by until they either sign up for your event or run away. The latter seems to be popular today.
As for the confusion, hopefully that's over now. For some reason early February is really busy for me, and I've been trying to sort out my schedule all day. Here's what today and tomorrow are looking like so far:
Today (Tuesday)
8:00-1:40 Class
2:30-4:30 Tabling (current activity)
4:30-5:00 Jeopardy (I know, I know, but it's Jeopardy!)
5:00-5:30 Dinner at Food Service
5:30-6:30 Intramural Volleyball practice at the RFC
7:00-9:00 Homework time (if all goes well)
9:17-10:00 Community Council Meeting
10:00-12:00 More homework time!
12:00-12:30 Shower, get ready for bed
1:00 Go to sleep (goodness knows I need it)
Wednesday
10:30 Wake up, get dressed
11:35-12:00 Eat lunch
12:00-2:00 Do homework, finish article for U.R.
2:00-3:20 Class
3:30-4:30 Meeting with Prof. about the Essay Contest
4:30-5:00 Jeopardy!
6:00-7:00 Pizza party for Support the U Day
7:00-8:00 College Bowl meeting
8:00-9:00 RFC with Maddie, Ben, Tim, and Chris?
9:00-12:00 Shower/homework
12:00 Bed (gosh I hope so)
So there it is. Just two days, and as you may have noticed, they both are absolutely crammed packed. As you may have also noticed, there is hardly any time for homework, and there is absolutely zero free time (not counting Jeopardy). Why is this, you may ask? Because in college, or at least at UMM, free time is homework time. I don't think I've ever once sat down and thought, "There's absolutely no studying I can be doing right now." Now this doesn't mean that whenever I have a few free minutes I do homework (far from it), it just means that it's always hovering over my head (which is rather disconcerting, to say the least).
Okay, I should post this into the void and sign off now.
Please know that despite my schedule I'm still having the time of my life here on the frozen tundra of UMM. Cheers!
Classes were so-so, breaks between classes were 20 minutes of gathering books and trying to finish reading Pride and Prejudice, and conversations with friends were limited to texts (see only 20 minutes between classes).
Now I'm sitting in the Student Center tabling for Support the U Day. Tabling is exactly what it sounds like; you sit at a table decked out with bright posters and candy incentives and hassle passers-by until they either sign up for your event or run away. The latter seems to be popular today.
As for the confusion, hopefully that's over now. For some reason early February is really busy for me, and I've been trying to sort out my schedule all day. Here's what today and tomorrow are looking like so far:
Today (Tuesday)
8:00-1:40 Class
2:30-4:30 Tabling (current activity)
4:30-5:00 Jeopardy (I know, I know, but it's Jeopardy!)
5:00-5:30 Dinner at Food Service
5:30-6:30 Intramural Volleyball practice at the RFC
7:00-9:00 Homework time (if all goes well)
9:17-10:00 Community Council Meeting
10:00-12:00 More homework time!
12:00-12:30 Shower, get ready for bed
1:00 Go to sleep (goodness knows I need it)
Wednesday
10:30 Wake up, get dressed
11:35-12:00 Eat lunch
12:00-2:00 Do homework, finish article for U.R.
2:00-3:20 Class
3:30-4:30 Meeting with Prof. about the Essay Contest
4:30-5:00 Jeopardy!
6:00-7:00 Pizza party for Support the U Day
7:00-8:00 College Bowl meeting
8:00-9:00 RFC with Maddie, Ben, Tim, and Chris?
9:00-12:00 Shower/homework
12:00 Bed (gosh I hope so)
So there it is. Just two days, and as you may have noticed, they both are absolutely crammed packed. As you may have also noticed, there is hardly any time for homework, and there is absolutely zero free time (not counting Jeopardy). Why is this, you may ask? Because in college, or at least at UMM, free time is homework time. I don't think I've ever once sat down and thought, "There's absolutely no studying I can be doing right now." Now this doesn't mean that whenever I have a few free minutes I do homework (far from it), it just means that it's always hovering over my head (which is rather disconcerting, to say the least).
Okay, I should post this into the void and sign off now.
Please know that despite my schedule I'm still having the time of my life here on the frozen tundra of UMM. Cheers!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Holly's First Finals Week
I've heard about college finals. Evidently, they're hard. Evidently, they're cumulative. Evidently, they require days (not hours) of study. Evidently, they practically determine your grades for the semester.
Today, I'm here to tell you that all of these rumors are true.
I spent all day Saturday making flash cards for my U.S. History final. All day. I honestly didn't do anything but eat, sleep, and create flash cards with terms ranging from 1945 to 1980. The final count was 158 cards, or if you need a visual, a stack about the thickness of the latest Harry Potter book.
I spent all of Sunday studying these cards. Flash cards only really work for me if I can talk them out to myself; you know, pace around a room and explain each card over and over out loud until I know it. Finally, at about 1:45 this morning I went to bed.
The trick about the history final was that it covered such a broad range:
1. 30 pages of notes from class lectures
2. Nemesis (a book about U.S. foreign policy)
3. Coming of Age in Mississippi (an autobiography of Anne Moody, Civil Rights activist)
4. Voices of Freedom (a book filled with different letters/speeches from history)
The final itself was six short answer questions, i.e. nine random terms were given to you, and you could pick six to write short definitions about, and one broad essay question that encompassed the entire unit.
I'm happy to tell you that I thought the exam went really well. It was at 8:00 a.m., so I was tired, but I still think that I got at least an A-.
Now I just have my literature final left. It's on Thursday, so I have a few days to study. Thank goodness, because this final will be even more difficult, I think.
Going to begin studying now, and then watching Up at 7:00. I think I've earned a movie break.
Today, I'm here to tell you that all of these rumors are true.
I spent all day Saturday making flash cards for my U.S. History final. All day. I honestly didn't do anything but eat, sleep, and create flash cards with terms ranging from 1945 to 1980. The final count was 158 cards, or if you need a visual, a stack about the thickness of the latest Harry Potter book.
I spent all of Sunday studying these cards. Flash cards only really work for me if I can talk them out to myself; you know, pace around a room and explain each card over and over out loud until I know it. Finally, at about 1:45 this morning I went to bed.
The trick about the history final was that it covered such a broad range:
1. 30 pages of notes from class lectures
2. Nemesis (a book about U.S. foreign policy)
3. Coming of Age in Mississippi (an autobiography of Anne Moody, Civil Rights activist)
4. Voices of Freedom (a book filled with different letters/speeches from history)
The final itself was six short answer questions, i.e. nine random terms were given to you, and you could pick six to write short definitions about, and one broad essay question that encompassed the entire unit.
I'm happy to tell you that I thought the exam went really well. It was at 8:00 a.m., so I was tired, but I still think that I got at least an A-.
Now I just have my literature final left. It's on Thursday, so I have a few days to study. Thank goodness, because this final will be even more difficult, I think.
Going to begin studying now, and then watching Up at 7:00. I think I've earned a movie break.
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