Checklist

Meet with advisor to discuss finer points of thesis- check.

Submit thesis.

Present music seminar class with a crash course in Indian music theory & sitar music- check.

Paper on the evolution of the zither via acculturation along the Silk Road... erm, due Tuesday...

Submit two final papers for 16th and 17th century fantasy class- check.

Music for Mass Sunday, Thursday and Friday- half-check (it's not Sunday, Thursday or Friday yet).

Packing for Mexico-- must find work gloves and sunscreen!!! Lots and lots of sunscreen!

But... I'm done with classes for the quarter! Boo-yah!

On to the 437 other things on my "to do" list...

Now that retreats and fundraisers are mostly done, I can FINALLY concentrate on other things that need to get done!

Like 12-page drafts of senior papers (not done yet, but floating around in my head and shouldn't be a problem. Except it's time-consuming), 5th-hour assignments, and "informed opinion" papers (DONE! As of ten minutes ago.)

Tomorrow caps Catholic spirit week with a talk from Bishop Tyson, so if I want to make it to that I'll have to get up early and write my papers (1.5 down, 1.5 to go!). It is definitely do-able, but for the sake of my own sanity, I might have to take it a little slower and skip the bishop. Color me sad about that (but seriously, schoolwork matters more).

Although I conversed with Bishop Tyson tonight for a solid five minutes... in Spanish. Rock on, little gringa girl!

I didn't know I was so nervous until I had nothing to worry about anymore

So I'm taking my senior seminar this quarter, and I think part of me has been scared to death ever since I signed up for it.

I didn't worry out loud, or even to myself, because it feels like such an important class that if I don't have at least a little confidence in myself, I won't be able to pull it off. But the whole time, I think I've been desperately afraid that I was in way over my head.

That's why today, when I got my first graded assignment back, I was absolutely ecstatic. And relieved. The fear that I wasn't ready for this course has been dispelled; the professor actually used the words "superb" and "excellent." Wow. I was hoping for a mere "passable" or "maybe-you-won't-fail-miserably," probably because I've never taken a course like this before. I'm walking on air right now.

This is not to say that I don't need to continue to be diligent, or that I don't have to work hard, but it's really nice to hear that I'm on the right track and doing well.

Just keep swimming!

Deep within the bowels of the library, in the lower level of Haggard Hall, sit three computer labs. They are open 24 hours out of each day-- thus they glow with the same flourescent lighting with no natural light. Those trapped within these labs have no knowledge of passing time, other than a clock on the wall. 'Tis a rather dismal space.

But behold, written on the whiteboard on the wall of the computer lab, someone has shouted out a message of hope for all students: "Keep going!"

Or, in the immortal words of Dory, "Just keep swimming!"

Only 2 1/2 more hours until the end of this quarter! Bam!

Finals, oh finals. I hate you. You stink.

I just finished my linguistics final. Don't worry, it was a take-home exam (I haven't been holed up in a classroom for the past twelve hours, desperately trying to phonetically transcribe a paragraph or anything like that).

So, since I thought I'd need the boost, I had a Coke a while ago. It's 12:11- I should be sleepy. Instead...

LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Who wants to go to the gym? Like, right now?

I'm excited- I have one actual exam tomorrow, but my other two only consist of showing up and handing in papers. The feeling of accomplishment shall be immense.

Hark! An idea!

Grab it and run! Run, Molly, run!

We have been assigned a "creative project" in one of my English classes in lieu of an actual final. Sounds a little lame in my opinion, but seeing as it means that I have one less exam to take, I shouldn't complain.

My original plan was to take a long hard look at Looking for Alaska (by John Green. Brilliant book; funny in its delivery, sympathetic to the trial that is teenaged angst, doubly so to those of us who were the nerdy smart kids, poignant, sweet, and smart. Check out his website. Seriously, I'd chase this guy if he weren't married already...) and make a scrapbook of it (can't tell you too much about it because I don't want to spoil it).

But even as I critically reread it, looked for ideas ans clues, I realized that 1) to make a cheesy scrapbook out of such a well-written book is to rob it of all of the virtues extolled above; 2) it would hardly count for a decent project; if I were the professor I wouldn't give it an A; and 3) scrapbooking, while fun, is expensive. And I am poor. Quite poor. Like, college-student-with-no-beer-in-the-fridge-because-it's-superflous poor. I can't afford to make a scrapbook that will look nice, and it would suck to spend that much time and money on a project that I know is a really half-assed idea (read: not creative, a mere rehash of someone else's great idea).

So in short, I scrapped the scrapbook, and that left me with no other ideas and six days until the project is due.

But fear not! For behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people! For unto you... (oh, wrong story...)

Anyway, fear not! For included on the list of acceptable mediums for this project is "writing a short story!" And my friends, I can write a short story! Moreover, writing is free! All you need to buy is coffee and various calorie-laden foods to keep you awake and focused!

And furthermore. I had an idea for one in August and just sat down and started writing it. Started, but never finished. But it deals with young adult themes, which is the sole criterion of this project. And if I do say so myself, it's a decent story. And it's already four pages long, so I don't have to scramble for a new idea.

Who's have thought that insomnia-induced, late-night writing over the summer would result in a final project four months later? My guardian angel's a thinker, I tell you...

Insomnia, anyone?

I am so over this insomnia. Now I wish I could convince my body of that.

I ran my butt off at the gym today so that I could sleep like a rock tonight, and here it is, almost 3 am (4 am if you note the fact that we just "fell back" three hours ago), and I can't sleep. Frickin' workout. It should have made me sleepy; now I'm just really sore. And wide awake.

I used part of the time to read a novel for young adult literature, but that only ate up two hours (big print, wide margins). I'm going to go read for my other class. I really should jump ahead, since I have two midterms this week. But I'm at that awful point where studying goes in my eyes and out the back of my brain.

The thing is, I really am tired. But when I lie down to sleep, my brain decides it's going to triple its activity level and it feels like a freight train is running though the middle of my head as I lie there. I guess there's a lot on my mind, and I also guess (all right, I don't guess. I know.) that I don't have much of an outlet for it. So here I'm am, just stewing about it all.

St. John Vianney said once that God commands us to pray, but forbids us to worry. In a sense, I'm not really worried. Just pensive. So much so that it keeps me up at night.

Frickin' finals...

I just looked at the schedule for my finals exams so I could write them in my planner and plan accordingly.

All three of them are on the same day.

One at 8am, one at 10:30am, and one at 3:30pm. All on Tuesday, the 11th of December.

God grant me strength. And a lot of sleep the night before. And strong coffee to get me through.

Almost there!

School starts tomorrow, my Internet service should work by tomorrow, my birthday is the day after tomorrow... man, things are just getting rolling around here!

My lack of wireless Internet (which the inept people at Landmark have been promising for three weeks now) is the reason why I've only written one blog since I've been home. But until yesterday and today, there hasn't been much to report.

Yesterday and today we ran the NCCM table at Info Fair. The day before, we gave out lemonade while parents moved the freshmen into the dorms. Mom came up north for the traditional birthday lunch yesterday. Patrick and Frank are doing a beautiful job in the evangilization department. It's been great to have the whole ministry working together again. I hung out with the X men last night at the Xavier house watching Monday night football, stayed for evening prayer, and then went home and watched Strangers with Candy with Casey.

AND, I got my first full night of sleep for the first time since moving in. That's because I tacked a bed sheet over my window to block out the streetlight that shines directly into my room. It was like daylight every night, all night long, until we put that thing up. It's only temporary until I can find some curtains. It sort of makes my room look like a holding cell or something (there are pretty white lamps, red rose string lights, a light blue blanket over my bed- and then a black sheet on the wall. Sort of takes away from the ambiance), but it's totally worth being able to sleep through the night.

Back in B'ham

If I'm ever in a rock band, I will lobby to call it "Back in B'ham."

As such, yes, I'm back home! (Lower-case "h"; Home is with my family...). I moved into the apartment with the help of my obliging and lovely roommate, and my obliging and patient father. Most of my boxes are unpacked, pictures are on the wall, meals have been cooked, coffee abounds in the kitchen, we've already gotten our first bill... ah, being a grown-up.

The only thing that I'm a little steamed about is that the wireless Internet (the apartment came with wireless Internet, or so it said in the lease that we signed) is not up and running yet. It's not that big a deal- it's not like we have no power or water or anything absolutely essential. But it is definitely inconvenient. This blog is being posted from the communications facility on campus. It's not that long a walk from home, but still. The folks at Landmark need to get their butts in gear. In the event that I bust an ankle or something (you may snicker, but it happens. And it's me. Let's face it.), I'd like to be able to communicate with the outside world!

I'll also be glad on Sunday when we can use the rec center again (without incurring "summer use" fees). Things will feel back to normal soon, when all of our utilities are up and running.

Past few days, last few days

Wow. I'm at the end of my first half of college.

Well, I have one more paper first, but then it's over.

These past few days, in review:

The poetry reading went well. I didn't stammer or cry or self destruct or anything (which never happens, but I always worry that it will). The thing about writing poetry is that it comes from a really personal place. That is, you reach down into the depths of your souls and pull out the best and worst things about yourself and then, for cathartic purposes, write a poem about it. When you share it with your peers it's really odd; on the one hand, you're bearing your soul and letting them see a part of you that you rarely show. And then in direct contrast to that, you never speak of what was read again. For example, I read a pretty sad poem about losing someone. Only two people in the room knew the story behind the poem (the professor and a friend of mine). The prof gave me a nod when I was done and my friend patted my shoulder- but we haven't spoken about it since. The same thing happened when my friend read his stuff (he's a talented writer); one of them was about family. It was a beautiful poem and the central part of it was something that I've never heard him talk about before or since. But I suppose that's really the point of writing poetry- the work says it all so that you don't have to. I told him I liked it; he said thank you, it had been on his mind for a while. The same went for everyone who read- we got a glimpse of something very real and personal to them through the lens of their poetry before they packed it up and put it back down in the depths of their souls. Poetry is catharsis. It's cool.
Wow, that was a long aside. Now that I'm pretty much done I'm worrying about goodbye gifts/cards/letters to people. They've been my projects of late. I really should start packing up my room, as it's not really mine. I'm not too attached to the space like I was last year, but I finally found a setup that I like and I hate to take it down. Although that really shouldn't bug me, given that college students live in a sort of perpetual transition. Casey and I were saying the other day how we don't really feel at home (in terms of being in a room, not the people we're with) anywhere anymore. We were uprooted from what was always home (e.g. our parents' houses) when we moved to school, and even though we go back there periodically it isn't really ours anymore. But the dorms are definitely not ours. We signed a lease yesterday for our apartment next year, but even that is with the understanding that we leave again 11 months later. Even after we graduate we're going to be moving around a lot- we'll have internships or volunteer posts or odd jobs- and we'll scramble around until we figure what we want to do with our lives, and once we establish that we have to find a job or get a degree, and then once we're all set we finally get a job. We won't really settle down and have a permanent home until we have our own families. It's a really odd thing to think about- I'll always have a roof over my head and a place that I call home, but it's not really my home. That notion is a little depressing and pretty liberating at the same time.

Taking the plunge

Off I go in a few minutes to a reading for a creative writing class.

Yes, I signed up to read. Yes, my palms are already sweaty.

It's not reading a poem in public that scares me- it's reading my own poetry in public. Thankfully some friends of mine are in the morning class, and they will be there, as well. So there will be a lot of built-in emotional support.

Didja ever have a moment?

I remember in high school when something significant happened in a very subtle or quiet way, Wadleigh would call it a "moment." As in, "We totally had a moment during that piece" or something to that effect if the group really connected. Or if for a second we all got really emotional. Or even if he had a brief second of lingering eye contact with somebody during which there was a tremendous amount of understanding.

Put in those terms, I totally had a moment yesterday with my creative writing teacher.

I asked him to look over a short story I wrote at the beginning of this quarter because I changed the ending, so I stayed a little past the end of class to let him read it. When he was done he asked me what I thought of the work I've done this quarter. I related a conversation that I had with a friend of mine in his morning class about how writing poetry is cathartic. He asked how I meant that; I answered that you can take bad stuff and make a really great poem out of it and feel a lot better.

So of course he asked me if he could read one of them, so I pulled one of them out- the first poem I wrote, probably the saddest one, too. He started to read it and I looked down to finish what I was doing. I glanced back up, and he wasn't reading anymore- he was looking away from the paper, blinking his eyes and actually getting choked up.

I didn't say anything- I didn't want to embarrass him, and it was one of those moments that you don't want to touch because it's so charged that it's almost electric. You don't want to touch it and get shocked.

It didn't last longer than a moment (remember Hello Dolly- the only thing shorter than a second but still very significant is a moment); he swallowed hard, composed himself, and helped me with the technical parts of the poem. We talked a little later about why it was so emotional, but for that moment I was completely stunned.

Maybe it's just because I figured that since he's a creative writing teacher that he's read enough poetry by his students to be immune to tears. Although the worst thing you can do in a creative art is become immune to how it makes you feel. Maybe I was shocked just because nothing that I've written has ever moved anyone to that kind of emotion- except my mother, but come on, it's my mother [love you, Mom. : )]. Anyway, I made the changes he suggested, but mostly I was taken aback (but not in a bad way) at how he reacted.