I felt the need to mention that because it's Christmas Eve. True, it's not one of those big-flaked, merry snows, just a fast flurry, but it's just what I needed to push me over the edge into Christmas mode. I've been in finals mode for so long that when I finally relaxed, it didn't feel one bit like Christmas. But with a pie in the oven for dinner tomorrow and snow in the skies and Bing Crosby playing, I'm finally, finally in the holiday mood.
I've never had a busier semester. My friend Peter asked me several times if I was okay ("People don't ask other people if they're okay often enough"), and I had to reassure him that was fine, just running myself ragged. When I first got to college, it was quite an adjustment, but more of a growing-up and social kind than an academic one. This fall was the first time that school kicked my ass. And the best part is, I kind of enjoyed it.
Oh, I can't say I completely enjoyed all the late hours, the many classes I missed, collapsing on the couch at the end of the day, too tired to even cook. But, strange as it may seem, I really enjoyed what I was learning. Shocker, I know. I felt challenged, pushed beyond my limits, for the first time in college. But what my professors were teaching me was just so interesting that I wanted to go to class. My Walt Whitman seminar was truly phenomenal; BiSci opened my eyes to what I need to do to make myself happy (this was the lab science where pasting leaves on a mason jar counted as class); Old English was tough, but fascinating; and of course, I enjoyed my first fiction workshop with graduate students (even though there were days when I felt like the stupidest person there). I ended up keeping half of my books at the end of the semester because I wanted to go and reread Leaves of Grass and Coetzee's Summertime.
The "higher" part of higher learning came when I realized I was connecting everything in my classes. I quoted Whitman and commended his style of living in my BiSci journals, I used my German to help me translate Old English, and in turn used my Old English to help me in Early Brit Lit. That, to me, was the most rewarding part of the semester: that I could actually use what I was learning. It was my first semester of graduate classes, and I can now say that I think I'm really going to like being a graduate student. The thought of being a professor, never an option on the table before, has crossed my mind several times in recent weeks, and it's weird that I don't hate the idea. In fact, I kind of like it.
UPDATE: The snow is now large-flaked and merry, and sticking! How perfect. Hope my mother gets home from errands okay. It would be a shame if she died on Christmas Eve. (To put things mildly.)
It's been a learning semester in more ways than one, but I won't go through it all now. I'll just wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or whatever else you celebrate.
Oh, and Life Lesson #66: Don't wait until December 23 to buy your tree, if you celebrate Christmas. After the epic Quest for the Christmas Tree yesterday, spanning three stores, an allegedly creepy Santa, and a grumpy father, I have given my parents express permission to get the tree before I come home next year.
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| Or else you find trees barely your height (and, for the sake of this lesson, you are extremely short). |
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| Or massive trees that no one can lift. |
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| And then you start getting ridiculous because there are no trees. |
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| And your father is unamused. |
Also: Neil Diamond's Christmas album NOOOOOOOOOO! Must... change... song... In the words of my sister just now, "You know, I don't really like Neil Diamond, but I consider this to be his most horrific work."
Then, "It doesn't even sound like he's singing; he's just got a sore throat or something. Or he's a drunken pirate."
After a year away, it's good to be home for Christmas.
