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.

Lenten Resolution Revealed (among other things)

This morning I sat in Turtle Mountain Cafe, reading Langston Hughes, eating my breakfast yogurt, and sipping a hot chocolate that would have tasted better had I not witnessed the worker making it. She dumped a few scoops of powder into hot water and stirred it around. No whipped cream or anything. So much for Fat Tuesday.

I'm giving up chocolate for Lent (and any admiration for my sacrifice is much appreciated-I think chocolate is probably the hardest thing I can possibly give up, save reading, which would not even be realistic), so I thought I'd better get as much in as I can while I can. Will eat a Kit Kat later as well.

I've also been dreaming of Spring Break. 1 exam, 1 four page paper, and 3 days are all that stand between me and home.

A Shrieking Good Concert

I don't like being screamed at I don't like being screamed at.
I attended my first Symphonic Winds concert this afternoon. It was lovely, really, and as I was floating along on the music, exclaiming (privately) at the beauty of Oyate and the beauty of the nonsubzero day outside, the screams began.
They escalated until beautiful Oyate Hall echoed with the sounds of people dying, or fleeing in terror. I thought someone had pulled out a gun, I thought someone had seen a ghost, I thought the very worst.
But nope. It was all part of the music.
Apparently blood-curdling screams are very in right now.
As I surreptitiously tried to wipe off the tears that were threatening to fall out of my eyes, I noticed two little girls who were sitting a few rows in front of me. They looked about as frightened as I felt. They were clinging to their father with saucer eyes and mussed hair and probably asking him why were people screaming?
I wondered that myself as I tried to rub the goosebumps off of my arms.

I think I'm going to go hide under the covers now.

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.

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."

Stress Levels High

Here's what I have to do:
1. Study for a German test on Friday
2. Begin researching/writing my 10+ page Understanding Writing research paper
3. Write a paper for Icelandic Sagas (4 pages, due next Friday)
4. Write a paper for Honors: Traditions in Human Thought (5 pages, due next Friday)
5. Figure out topics for the above 3 papers
6. Give blood tomorrow
7. Work tonight, tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday
8. Do laundry
9. Get my Mac fixed once and for all
10. Study for American Literature Midterm next Friday
11. Finish reading Atonement (pleasure)
12. Sign up for Intramural badminton
13. Sign up for Big Friend/Little Friend?
14. Become a superhero so that all the above tasks can be successfully completed.

How Not to Be an Adult

It's been a while, I know. In my defense, my 17 credits, 3 jobs, multiple extracurricular activities, and tendency to volunteer for additional fun-sounding things have suddenly caught up with me. I don't have a single day for about three weeks straight where I have nothing going on. It's ridiculous, but it's fun too; I'm meeting lots of new people, and really learning a lot about campus. It's quite nice to know the nuts and bolts of things going on around here.

You should know that I had a great plan for this post. While I was doing the reading for my honors class, I actually wrote some notes to be eventually pieced together into a cohesive entry. Now, though, of course, I have an entirely different frame of mind and don't feel like I can write about Plato's musings tonight.

Instead, I'll tell you about a disturbing incident that occurred at a faculty Division Meeting today. I was taking minutes, a job that I don't think I'm particularly good at, as I tend to get so interested in the conversation that I forget to type, and generally basking (as always) in the presence of so many scholars. I know, I know; professors are just people. But they are kind of fascinating, aren't they? They look so normal, and yet they have devoted their lives to research, and the pursuit of knowledge. It's sort of intimidating, actually.

Anyway, we had gone through all the things on the agenda, and were wrapping things up (following Robert's rules, of course), when a certain professor launched an attack on the division head (i.e. my boss, who is absolutely wonderful). He was going on about how she had formed a committee and not consulted certain people about who would be on the committee. This prof. was completely implying that my boss had deliberately chosen certain people to be on the committee so that her views would be represented, rather than choosing people who would do the best job. More professors chimed in, agreeing with the first prof.

My boss (I'm avoiding names here, as you have probably noticed) explained patiently that she had consulted the department heads, and they had given her a list of people, and that she was merely asking those listed people to join. She said that the committee was by no means finalized, and that she was trying to get representation from all the departments in order to have multiple perspectives.

A lot more was said that I truthfully did not understand (not knowing the back story as the rest of the profs. no doubt did), but I just felt so bad for my boss. I could tell she was genuinely shocked and appalled that people would be angry about her actions, and had ranted over them behind her back (as they had clearly done).

I may not know the full history, and I may not have spent a whole lot of time with my boss, but I have a good feel for people, and right now I feel like she did not intend nor attempt half the things she was being accused of.

I walked out of that meeting feeling rather sad; it's a shame that learned people such as that group of profs. would act like that, and treat a fellow colleague like that. It even makes me angry that they chose to launch their accusations in a public forum, instead of first raising their concerns to my boss privately.

It's funny how when you're a kid you think that adults are perfect, and that they never behave immaturely or irrationally. It's funny how as you get older you realize that they have as many faults as you do, and that it is true that some 15-year-olds are more mature than some 50-year-olds.

Like a City Upon a Hill

I know, I know-I've done it again. A couple of long, dramatic posts in a row, and then I didn't get back to you with the resolution!
By now, though, it seems kind of silly to explain to you how amazing Orientation was, what a good time I had with my group, and how I look forward to bumping into them around campus and seeing what they get involved in and how their freshman year goes.
Nah.
That's old news by now.
The new news is that I had my first day of classes today.
All of them were amazing.
I'm especially excited about my Icelandic Sagas Honors class. There are only about 13 people in it, so it's going to be a great discussion class. It's also interdisciplinary, so it's taught from an English-y perspective by an English professor, and a science-y perspective by a science professor.

I'll admit that there was a point when I almost had a meltdown thinking about all the studying I'm going to have to do this semester. I'm taking 17 credits for goodness' sake! Plus three jobs! What was I thinking, you guys? Why didn't you stop me?

Oh, well. All of my classes are going to be interesting and thought-provoking, and all of my jobs are educational (as well as financially reassuring).
I think it's worth it to be super busy if I can do all the things I want to do.

I'm also cutting down on my activities this year; I'm mainly focusing on MCSA (student government) and intramurals.

Okay...I should get back to my American Lit. reading now. It's an essay/sermon by John Winthrop, and let me tell you that while I love the guy to pieces, his writings are an absolute pain to read. I wonder if his fellow Puritans struggled as well?

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

My hair is gone. I hate to make this into a huge deal (I currently have a facebook status mentioning it), but it's a rather big change to go from almost-middle-of-the-back length hair to above-the-ears length hair. I definitely wanted it, though. I've had the same haircut for about seven years of my life, and it was time for something drastic.

I can't tell if I like it or not yet. At first I loved it, and then the more I looked at myself in the mirror, the less the person staring back looked like me. Maybe it'll just take some getting used to, but somehow I feel like this hair doesn't fit the person wearing it. For one thing, teenage girls with really short hair tend to be edgy. I am in no way edgy. I started picturing myself in the various sweaters that I adore and wear all winter, and it was a fairly laughable image. Alas! My hair doesn't match my clothes!

Anyway, it will grow back if I decide I want long hair again, and in the meantime I'll just enjoy it and amuse myself by wearing baggy clothes and carrying skateboards and posing as a boy.

You honestly should have seen my mother's face when I walked out into the lobby of the salon (I hadn't told her what I was planning to do). It was the first time I've seen anyone outside of a TV show do an actual double take.

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.