Saturday, January 26, 2008

No, I'm not on drugs, I'm just at college

Only college could be responsible for the complete and utter surreality of my life. I do things that I don't think twice about. Then, I tell my parents about these things and they raise their eyebrows and cluck at me as if I were merely a child that didn't know any better but would in due time. I sign up for these things, as it were. I register for classes in a haze of optimism, I get the textbooks in the mail, and, oh, aren't they so lovely with their bright, glossy pages and smooth covers and sweet words...and then I actually have to start taking the class and the illusion falls apart. Not unlike being overly caffeinated for hours before the inevitable crash at 3 a.m.

I will have been at this college thing for two years come May, and the only thing I can say with any certainty is that it sure as hell feels like I've been here all my life, and, what with the way I switch majors I will probably be here until the second coming, and that's saying something coming from an atheist.

Here's the sad story from beginning to, not the end--oh no, that would be too merciful--, the present (me sitting here hoping that writing it down will make it more coherent).

My first semester was rather nightmarish. I was a fledgling, I have a tendency to be hermitic, and my classes were mostly general education requirements. This left me with little work outside of class and a penchant for staying in my room, listening to music, and pursuing handcrafts. So, second semester I thought, why not give the ol' literature major a try? I like literature. I enrolled in a Virginia Woolf seminar course and a creative writing course and a humanities course. The Virginia Woolf course (note: Woolf is probably my favorite author of all time, supposing I have to choose a favorite) made me sick of literary analysis. I stopped reading with a pen in hand for quite a while. The creative writing course was a worse experience, as my professor was about as passionate as a turnip. Humanities was humanities, and instead of reading the Aeneid I, for the first time in my life, used Sparknotes. Literature was out.

This past fall I decided that since literature did not titillate my mind I would try for science. I mean, I like science. I liked it in high school, at least. I enrolled in two lab courses to test my theory. At first everything was great. Yes, I like science and learning about evolution was fascinating, etc. But then there were the lab reports. My god, the lab reports. Never have I written anything more abominable in my eyes than those lab reports. The worst part was that I got A's in both science courses. I felt like I had just regurgitated every lesson in linguistic aesthetics that I had ever learned. All this, not to mention the two gen chem, one organic chem, two physics, calculus, stats, and seemingly endless biology courses I would have to take to complete the major. I could probably keep changing my major until my senior year and get out quicker than I could with pursuing a biology major since sophomore year.

Ok, so that's out. Oooh, how about art? Art history. Yeah, that sounds great. Just great. I like art. Good idea. Two weeks into the semester I dropped one of the art history courses for another French course (French is the only thing I'm sure of these days) and plan to leave art history in my past as soon as I can and without shedding any tears over the matter. My next bid? Environmental science. It's practical, interesting, appropriate, something I can be passionate about, and you don't have to take any additional math courses to do it. I'll let you know the next time I change my major, though. It might not be long.

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