Posts Tagged ‘ classes ’

School, Writing, and ‘Totes’ is Apparently a Word

I should probably start thinking of some good quality content to put on this blog after school ends. The semester has only just begun but when this year is over, well, then it’s over. Unless by some miracle I apply and get accepted to grad school, and that’s when things get really serious and time will no longer be a concept I can believe in.

Not that I really believe in it now, either.  I’m almost done with my second week of the semester and I already feel as though I’ve fallen so behind…whatever possessed me to save five anthropology classes (four 300-400 level) for my last semester…though it probably doesn’t help that I seem to have a strong case of senioritis that leads me to mistakenly believe I can easily do homework while drinking beer.

Just got to keep pushing to the finish line, though, right.

I’m scared to bits and pieces at the prospect of asking professors for grad school recommendation letters once this is all over.  I’m expecting the responses to be a toss up between, “who are you?” and “I don’t know if I’ve anything good to say about you…”maybe try someone else.

Oh grad schools, why do you need recommendation letters?  I can’t form social connections to save my life.  I was raised in the emergent digital age, I interface with computer screens and emoticons, not living people.

At least I have my writing to fall back on, is what I keep telling myself to my own maniacal laughter.  Writing is a career you pursue relentlessly while keeping a day job to pay the bills (and slowly suck out your soul, and crush your spirit, leaving you a sullen husk silently holding on by that thread of hope that one of your stories will sell like Harry  Potter one day — sorry to spoil it for young, beginning writers brimming with idealistic ambition), anyhow, it’s definitely not Plan B.

That’s why I need to finish writing something and how.  We did intros in one of the classes, stating our name, major, year, and something fun/interesting (it changes as we were moving through the class) about ourselves.  The first guy who went said he was a writer, and I was like oh-fuck, stole my interesting about me, then finished up that he worked on fantasy novels and had two manuscripts finished and I was like, well shit, now I’m just a wannabe and he’s a dedicated professional.  Of course it gets round to me and I’m like, yeah, I also write, then sadly admit, though I haven’t finished a manuscript yet.

The professor, who is also the class clown, was bantering and laughter, and he made some offhanded comment that we can network (the other writer and I) and that guy’s is all scoffing, “she’s not even in the editting stages yet”, but then the prof was kind enough to acknowledge, “but that’s not really something funny.  That’s a serious endeavor, and should be commended,” because he’s actually a nice guy- much better than other everyone-should-be-loud-and-boisterous type teachers I’ve had in the past, then he brought it back around and instructed me, “Now tell us something funny.”

To which I quipped, “Something funny” because you know, no ones ever heard that one before.  People laughed and he was like okay, whatever, moved on to the next person and immediately I thought of a million interesting/funny things I could’ve said about myself instead.

Anyhow, I guess I made the decision then that I need to either work on finishing a manuscript (and then another one and another one and another one) and getting published (my stories anyway, company blog totally does not count.  Side note, WTF is with the word “totes” all of a sudden.  First time I heard it was in the Malcolm McDowell and James Earl  Jones commercial and I’m like, “kids don’t talk like that”, come to find out, they do) back on topic, though, decision: either write something or stop telling people I’m a writer.

I think I’d die inside if I had to stop telling people I’m a writer, as though my spirit were suddenly severed from my body.  Writing is the first and foremost thing I’ve wanted to do going way back to when I was like ten years old and a teacher told me I should be a writer, and I was like, wait, I can do that?  As like, a for real profession, just tell stories all day? Yeah, I totes want to be a writer!

Okay, yeah, totes is the stupidest word ever. Jeez what is wrong with kids these days? Let’s just pretend it doesn’t exist and the people that use it, we’ll pretend they don’t exist either.

Right.  So, unless I want to be a spiritless automaton, going about my life, rank and filing bones, pretending I know something about anything science-y like, which I only partially do, I guess I have to get something accomplished, finito, published, and voila, me writer.  Yeah, I had a beer while reading about entheseal change earlier so I’m a mite loopy, apologies.  Probably start small, short story or something.  Move my way towards finishing one of the plethora of novels I’ve started but for some reason or another dropped, only to start a different novel altogether.

I’m going back to homework now.  Don’t use the word totes.

Today all around sucked with a small splash of Yay!

I was on the wait-list for a highly desired class next semester (osteology – yeah, everyone in my field wants to be a forensic anthropologist.  I blame Bones), and today I got the email that I was enrolled.  Which means four people I love, as much as is humanly possible to love a person I’ve never met and know absolutely nothing about beyond they go to UNLV and don’t want to learn about bones, dropped the course and brought me three credits closer to my Anthropology degree.

Can you tell I’m excited?  

Which is odd, considering now that means I have five classes (four of which are 400-level anthropology classes and that means lots of reading, lots of writing) and that four days out of the week I have to be on campus by 8, which means I have to wake up at 5:30.  Four of those classes are also on the same day, with fifteen minutes passing time.  Lunch is going to be eaten while I’m speed walking to my one o’clock class.  

I hate myself a little.  Next semester is going to hurt.  It’s worth it right?  I got to believe it’s worth it.

Four More Weeks

There has to be a pattern to my phases of sudden production tapering off into utter listlessness.  Last semester I was ahead in all my classes, or as ahead as I could get, managing to stumble across the finish line onto the Dean’s List and now this semester, with four weeks left, I’m limping behind struggling to catch up or, at least, catch my breath.

Damn you Spring with your eternal sunshine, happily chirping birds, and carefree butterflies, blossoming flowers wafting sweet smelling pollen through the air that all tempt with reckless abandon!

Daisy

Ah…the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming. Spring is in the air! And I’m stuck inside, sitting on my bum, doing homework. Why did I choose to get an education? Ignorance really is bliss.

It’s almost over.  I just have to finish two term papers, speed read through my homework, cram for my tests, and sacrifice a small animal to the Finals Week gods.

Excuse me while I go find a goat.

Meanwhile, check out the pretty new blog layout.  I’m still not sure how I feel about this one, so please let me know your thoughts!  Also, check the writing tab up above on the menu bar, I threw a new piece of writing up under clips called: Photograph.  There’s other writing posted up there also if you haven’t taken a chance to read and don’t have anything better to do.  I always appreciate feedback, and someday, should I ever have the time, I may repay the favor.

And I should get back to my term paper.  Next post will be more substantial; either something on constructive criticism, or commonly given (yet really terrible) advice.

kgbethlehem

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