Deep in the third week of class, my excitement has tapered down to a beige drone. I’m no longer ready to learn, I’m mostly just ready to go to sleep.
The to-do lists are piling up at the same rate as my homework assignments. I’m drowning in paper.
One of my teachers spends all of class yelling about how the environment is dying and we need to treat animals as equals. What class is this, you ask? Multicultural Literature. I wake up for her 8 am class and listen to her rant about the food industry, the pain and suffering in the world…all while drinking imported coffee.
Then there’s British Literature. We’re focusing on poetry, which to me might as well be written in Martian. We switch to prose in two weeks…just gotta hang on until then.
History of Islam is interesting, but the reading is a bore and I find myself drowsing during lectures.
Study of Behavior is alright, another lecture-heavy class. We’re on anatomy now, learning about neurons and how mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.
Finally, my saving grace, my four hour Intermediate Creative Writing: Fiction class, which I love with my heart and soul and yet only happens once a week.
A lot of college feels like a waste of time. Trying to motivate myself to do my homework never works, because I’m not doing it because I’m being paid to, or to help someone, or for fun. I’m doing it for myself. Sometimes I feel like I just don’t love my future self enough to put my present self through such misery.
It’s like how you work out so you don’t break down in old age. Sure, it’s good for you, but it’s a lot of pain and suffering to save yourself…pain. And suffering. It’s, do I pay the toll now or later?
With education, I barely have a choice. I have to pay the toll now. I have to get educated. I have to hold my breath and clench my fists and listen to the lectures and read the books and manage a way to tie a crazy cat lady’s rant to Toni Morrison’s Beloved. For future me.
I better appreciate it.