A New Semester

It’s been a while. As you can tell by the space between this post and the last, I have fully taken advantage of my vacation time. I don’t have to be occupied every second of the day like some people. I’m fine just sitting around… for a while, anyway. Boredom afflicts everyone from time to time; I’m certainly not immune to its effects.

A lot has gone on since November. There were final projects and tests, Christmas break, and other various events that either made me happy or made me a very sad person. That’s putting it nicely. I’ll try not to go into too much detail. This is supposed to be a primarily academic blog, so I’ll spare you most of the personal happenings.

Finals at Agnes were rough. We had a little over a week to decide when we wanted to take the tests (unless they were pre-scheduled by teachers). I decided to wait until the last Monday and Tuesday of the semester to take my tests simply because I wanted to make the most of my time. Sure, I wanted to go home; but I didn’t want to be a crazy stress-ball, either. I had to take two tests: psychology and Greek history. I had a final paper for my FYS (which was a little whacky in itself).

Psychology was just… odd. I remember there being a question that wanted me to connect Freud’s defense mechanisms to a “friend” constantly failing her driving exam. Even for someone studying the stuff for months, I wracked my brain for any sort of coherent, logical answer. It was so open-ended. There were no details other than what I told you, so I found myself making up scenarios like: Maybe she got into a car accident when she was young. Even though she doesn’t remember it, it has been repressed (that’s a defense mechanism), and still affects the way she drives. There’s fear left over – she can’t necessarily explain it – but that’s why she does so badly each time. Far-fetched and weird, but I got an A in the class.

Greek history was another story. I was so confident going in. Dr. Abbot practically gave us an outline of the test; the dates are what killed me. I figured we should know the “most important” dates, like when the Parthenon was started/finished, or when Alexander the Great died. But he threw a few loops in there. We also had a final paper for that class, too. That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, either. I wrote about differing views of Athenian democracy. I had a lot of sources (a majority of them primary sources) and more pages than what was required… and yet I still got an 89. Disappointment abounds.

For FYS, we chose our own topic for our paper. I, being the geek that I am, chose to compare and contrast vampires and Greek deities. Surprised? Didn’t think so. It was, amazingly, a really… fruitful, for the lack of a better word, topic. I found much more than I anticipated. I’ll spare you the details here, too. But I got an A in that course as well, so I’m content.

Of course you can imagine that I was relieved when finals and the semester were over. This is only half true. Because I was on a payment plan of $500 per month in order to stay in school, I thought I had a payment due by the 31st of December. I was wrong. I got a phone call around the 12th saying that my final payment was due the 16th. I didn’t have the money by then because we were waiting on a child support check from my father. He hadn’t been paying it for a while (for various reasons), so my grandmother has had to fill in the gaps (which kills my heart slowly). So my classes were dropped despite the fact that I explained to them my situation. I did eventually pay at the end of the month, but I still had to reapply for my classes that were – at that point – all waitlisted.

This isn’t the end, though. I went back to Agnes at the beginning of this semester to redo my promissory note and set up another payment plan. However, the spring semester only has four months because they want all money in before May. This is very bad, because now I have to pay $700+ per month to stay enrolled. I can’t do this. Ridiculously enough, that same day, I went into the Accounting Office and the woman at the desk told me everything had been paid for. I was shocked and in total disbelief. I had no idea about anyone paying off the rest of my balance. So they did a little investigating. They found two checks for thousands of dollars with my ID# on them from a Mr. Couch; I know no such person. They eventually located whom the checks were really supposed to go to, but really? Did that really happen? I can’t even begin to explain my sadness and my rage. It felt like a slap in the face from God.

Nevertheless, I got all of my classes in order and am steadily approaching the end of January. The payment is due soon. I am in desperate need of a job off-campus (on top of two work-study jobs). I’ve already spoken to Dean Cannady about transferring next year to UGA perhaps, just so HOPE covers most of my expenses. I love Agnes and the people here, but I can’t survive like this. I’ve applied for dozens of scholarships, heard back from none of them; I don’t know what to do. I’m crossing my fingers.

Nervous-Breakdown November

I'm being cute. I have yet to have a nervous breakdown, and this surprises me. I used to have real anxiety issues dating all the way back to the third grade. I'm glad I've mellowed out a little bit. This month is a bit crazy, and I'd planned on updating this over Thanksgiving break; but after going to a Writing Center session on travel and blog writing, I was under the influence. So here I am, blogging, and simultaneously reading my travel journal from my trip to Europe two summers ago. And despite the fact that I pretty much did everything in this travel journal wrong (at least according to the session I attended) I'm still so glad I did it. It is the only real thing I have from it. My computer crashed not too long after my trip, so I had to excavate my half a thousand photos from my dying hard drive (and I didn't find them all) and lost all of my videos.

Anywho, I suppose I should say what's been happening in school. Well, as the end of the semester approaches, the work load is gradually getting heavier. I am Atlas with the world resting on my shoulders... though the world seems more to consist of papers and projects. But hey; that's college. That's my world. In my First Year Seminar, we just finished reading Dracula and Interview with the Vampire. I enjoyed both of them, and the impact of Dracula on me will be made evident later on in this post. But we are now preparing our theses for our final paper. This actually serves as a convenient segway... I plan on connecting vampires to Greek Mythology in my paper. There are a few very strong connections that I found. And this obviously wouldn't have seemed so obvious if I had not been taking a Greek History class. For that we also have a paper and an Athens Simulation this coming Thursday. Basically, we're doing a roleplay of the Assembly in Ancient Athens. I represent a Radical Democrat. Death to Socrates! Yeah.

Besides school, however, November is infamous for NaNoWriMo, or, National Novel Writing Month. This is my first year participating, and although I was late on the uptake, I've caught up for the most part. I have just about 28k words and counting. However, balancing study and "leisurely" writing (yeah right) sometimes gets tough. I have had the hardest time getting up in the mornings simply because I'm up from 8 to 2am most days, working, writing, working, writing. Sleep fits in there somewhere... so does eating. But that is irrelevant.

This is where that Dracula foreshadowing comes into play. For my story in particular, I'm trying to write it as a collection of entries. But, unlike Stoker's method of just using diary entries or recordings, I'm trying to incorporate as many mediums of communication as I can. I have letters, scripts, post-it notes, lists, school assignments, e-mails... needless to say, this makes writing all the more difficult. But my main priority was making it interesting to read, even if the storyline is still a bit shoddy (which it is. Thankfully NaNo encourages quantity, not quality). This is what Dracula did for me. It kept me on my toes with the constant changes of voice, and the variety was certainly welcomed by me. It kept the pace moving. I always wanted to know who was going to say/think what next. And, as tribute to Mr. Stoker for the inspiration, one my characters is named after his protagonist Jonathan Harker. Coincidentally -- I have seriously just realized this -- they both start graying in both his novel and mine. I sincerely did not realize this until just now. That's weird on so many levels. Oh well! He's more of a testament of my thanks to Stoker in that respect, I suppose. I had always planned for him to gray, but I'd given him the name Harker on a whim, thinking it would be nice to express some gratitude for Stoker.

My two other classes (Dramatic Writing and Psychology) are giving me a little bit of trouble. For Dramatic Writing, we have to write a one-act play that lasts for about a half hour. Now, I like my idea, but it just doesn't translate all the well into a play. I'm hoping that these next few drafts will spark something inside my brain. Psychology isn't too bad; the only thing I'm worried about is the final exam. It's cumulative; we didn't have a midterm to at least split the study load. I am perfectly okay with the conceptual ideas in the course; but the more biological things (like parts/functions of the brain and other such organs) aren't as easy for me. I'm hoping for the best, however. I'm not too pessimistic about it yet!

Anyone else participating in NaNoWriMo? How are things going for you? Feel free to add me as a Writing Buddy if you so wish.

My First Midterm & Other Things

My Greek History teacher recently made us take our midterm last Thursday. The same day, I worked my first time at Agnes' post office for my second work-study job. Needless to say, I was a bit stressed. Luckily, I find Greek history incredibly fascinating, and it was never really a trouble (except when it came to specifics of Solon's & Kleisthenes' reforms) retaining what I learned. You are probably reading this and thinking: why is she mentioning this? Well, I suppose my main purpose is to lead up to the fact that I'm pretty confident I aced the midterm. It felt so amazing. The joy I felt even made me briefly consider majoring in Classics. The idea is still up for debate.

Alan Lightman, the physicist and author of Einstein's Dreams -- a wonderful book that I highly recommend -- came to our campus for 2-3 days to speak to us both about his book and about the connections of art and science. Irony seemed to take a liking to me those few days. While sitting in on his first lecture, I formulated a question and wrote it down, seeing as I figured I'd forget it as soon as I walked up to the microphone, shaking and stuttering. I don't exaggerate when I say that the moment when the last speaker sat down and I decided to stand up, the Q&A session ended. Just like that. I was destroyed for a few hours, at least. It seems that whenever I gather up the courage and confidence to go outside of my comfort zone, I am completely and utterly let down. This has happened in so many instances, which is why I later was afraid of the confidence I felt in regards to my Greek midterm.

So, Mr. Lightman signed my book. He was an interesting person; I kept on running into him throughout his visit. It was odd. When I walked into the dining hall to get breakfast, he simply walked right past me from the kitchen/cafeteria/buffet area and sat down, all by himself, to eat his breakfast before his morning lecture. My friend and I contemplated sitting with him, but then we thought that maybe -- being the "famous guy" on campus -- he would want some alone time. But eating alone, I think, is one of the worst feelings ever. I was torn, to say the least. I never approached him, but I still wonder.

Then, I attended a second Q&A session in the Fine Arts building. He was directly discussing his book, so I figured it would be an even better (and more appropriate) place to ask my question. However, the demons of irony working against me once again, he ended up answering my question in an explanation, more or less. It was certainly a "palm-to-face" sort of moment. So I kept quiet again.

You're probably wondering what sort of question I came up with. I was pretty proud of it, because I wanted to ask about something that intrigued me the most about his story. As an aspiring writer myself, his approach and storytelling methods really opened my eyes. I wrote:

"The thing that struck me most about your novel was that you took something as constant and given like time and turned it upside-down. People may create different races, places, and events, but the function of time -- at least, as far as I've read -- remains the same. Wanting to be a writer myself, this had never occurred to me. I'm wondering how it occurred to you?"

Is that not a pretty good question? To give some background, Einstein's Dreams is about the famous physicist's fictional dreams regarding worlds where time works differently. For example, in one world, the higher up you were, the less time had an effect, much like gravity. So people living higher up were higher up in society and lived longer, supposedly. Isn't that interesting? Mr. Lightman created several of these highly unique worlds, and in many ways, I was awe-struck by his creativity.

For our response to the book, I wrote a not-so-short short story about one of his worlds. It ended up being 11 pages long, while other people just wrote simple essays or poems. I'm not saying other people didn't go all out -- because some of them got crafty and blew my mind -- but I put a good amount of time and effort into mine. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out, too. I'm really fond of the main character I created, Seymour. It was a neat accomplishment. The lady in charge of presenting the responses to Mr. Lightman said she'd be sure to show it to him, but I'm not sure if she did or not. I guess I'll never know.

Disegno: What Michelangelo Taught Me

By no less than a miracle, I traveled to Europe in the summer of 2008 with the People to People Student Ambassador Program. I remember -- when I got the invitation -- seeing the bright image in my mind of a wonderful impossibility. Europe: a place where history and grandeur seemed to hover in the air as thickly as oxygen. Europe. It was and still is, in many respects, a magical name, rolling off my tongue, filling my mouth with great expectations.

It cost six thousand dollars. This did not include souvenir money. My family -- large and already pressed for money -- somehow pulled through for me. I sent letters to family members just about begging them for donations. I sold candy in school, the cardboard box smacking against my leg as I walked the crowded halls. It paid off the in end. The stress of getting ready blocked out most of what happened before, but I remember the airport that day. I remember never seeing a plane so incredibly large, the hostesses speaking German, the wonderful meals, the chill of traveling so close to Greenland... it is still so vivid.

Our destinations included Italy, the Vatican, Austria, Switzerland, and France in that order. I won't talk about the specifics of each and every location; only one.

Florence, Italy. I recall my chest swelling with awe as the fresh, cool breeze swept through the crowded streets. I had never been to a city so "open" before. While I was so used to American cities growing up, European cities grew out, and everything seemed much more organic, in a sense. With our special, handy-dandy name tags, we managed -- on a hot, summer's day -- to bypass the street-long line into the Galleria dell'Accademia, home of the famous Statue of David.

Our tour guide did her best to prevent us from seeing David for as long as possible. Large and small paintings preceded visiting him, and it was obvious that most of us were simply eager to see the marble man. My aunt had seen David before, and he made her cry. I hoped he was as beautiful as people put him off to be.

Though I later discovered, when our guide -- a small, tan, friendly Italian woman -- told Michelangelo's story, that David's beauty lay not within his looks, but in the craft... in his birth. I might have just imagined things, but the tour guide seemed to hone in on me as she told the story of Michelangelo, the small, unattractive man who -- at the age of 26 -- finished the masterpiece before us. While other artists portrayed David after killing Goliath, Michelangelo depicted David before. He imbued in that statue all of his ideas of intelligence, strength, and beauty. The contemplation in David's eyes choked the atmosphere.

And most of all, David was made from a discarded, decades-old block of stone. The title of this entry, "disegno," stems from this. Michelangelo believed that he did not create David. He believed that David was there, waiting in his marble womb, waiting to be freed. All he did was break the chains with his hammer and chisel. Michelangelo set David free.

And I cried, just as my aunt cried. This experience was so impacting for me, that I wrote my college essay about it. It is written from David's point of view, and I will share some of it here:

"... I see a remarkable thing reflected in those pent up tears. Her thoughts are woven plainly along the surface of each glistening bead. She looks not at me, but in me.

A story twitches on the upturned corners of her smile. Her mind festers with the tale of the small, unattractive young artist who freed me, who imbued in my rigid flesh his notions of strength, intelligence, and beauty. The man who carved so meticulously the veins running from my hands to my throat, the muscles rippling softly at my ribcage, and the deep expression of contemplation as potent in my eyes as the saline tears in hers. She has heard of my father, and it is he—not I—who has invoked her response. She sees in my lifeless body the beating, immortal heart of the person for whom she weeps.

The absence of the giant’s head at my heels fills her with intense fervor, for she understands. She knows what it is to instill within works those hidden implications, those subtle details that make something meaningful. For the first time she feels level with Michelangelo. Once humbled by him, the girl connects with him now. And instead of jealousy or worthlessness or anger, she experiences a sensation of utter joy for my father: he has done it ... He managed to create with his bare hands a work of art that perfectly exemplifies all that he wished to display. As if Michelangelo brought me here to deliver this wordless message, I unknowingly convey it to this girl. Let no one’s heart fail because of me. Give your insecurities, your doubts unto the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. It is indeed possible."

The possibility of impossibilities is what I learned. Or rather, solidified the notion into my mind. Even the fact that I was there at that moment, in Europe, thousands of miles from home, after raising incredible amounts of money, I was there. It was possible. I had done it.

And that is what I intend through this blog: I will talk about what I do. For there is no greater reward than the satisfaction of making and doing something worthwhile. Our greatness is buried within us; we must simply find those people and those tools to help us excavate.