back to school...

This is a whiny post.

Basically I really, really, really, really, really do not want to go back to school. I don't want to go to class. I don't want to sit in those ridiculous little desks. I don't want to take notes. I don't want to do homework. I don't want to have my life controlled by assignments and busy work. I don't want the anxiety and the stress.

Man, I'm pathetic. I don't want to go so much that I'm crying.

Don't get me wrong, I like to learn. I enjoy discovering new things and expanding my view of the world. What I don't like is the absolute utter exhaustion and anxiety that comes from the way our education system works. I don't like being a grade point average -- I don't like having my future rest on some stupid letters that stand for how well I did at something.

I'll get it done. I always do. I guess this last semester has kind of killed any love for college that I may have possessed. And I'll tell you a little secret -- with the exception of Economics 110, I got straight A's. I knew I wouldn't do super well in Econ, and I only needed a C -- I got a B- and was excited because it was way better than I thought I would do. What bothered me is this: this was absolutely the worst semester of my life, and I felt that I slacked off completely. I didn't feel that I deserved any of the A's that I got -- and I almost feel angry that my lack of effort was given straight A grades.

My half effort was rewarded as excellent. I procrastinated every assignment because the depression was so intense that I could barely function. I skimmed reading assignments and left classes feeling more confused than I was when I went in. I studied like crazy for exams, but never felt confident. I felt that everything I did was pointless and pathetic, and I expected that to be reflected in my GPA.

So what does that make those A's, anyway? Somewhat worthless, if I'm honest. Maybe I'm being ungrateful (actually, I know I'm being ungrateful), but I really do feel like those grades are total lies.

I was mediocre. My papers were excellent, and my professors want me to publish. But the work I put in? It wasn't excellent. It was rushed, last-minute, pathetic.

That's why I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to do the work, especially because I know that even when I don't do as good a job as I should, I'll get outstanding grades anyway. It's like lying.

What I should do is put in more effort and be proactive in my education. I, however, would rather watch Chuck on Netflix, go take photographs of beautiful things, write poetry and articles on things I'm interested in, spend time with the people I care about, sing and dance and play, learn the piano again, read real books, sleep when I can and for as long as I need, and work at a job that actually does something worthwhile (like the one I have).

I suppose this is why there is a thing called retirement. Although...that may quickly become a myth.

drop dead...

That awkward moment when one second you're singing "Come Thou Fount" and the next you're staring up at dozens of concerned faces over your head.

Yeah. I passed out in choir today. I'm not really sure what happened. No, I didn't lock my knees -- I've been singing since I was four-years-old, so I'm well aware of that no-no. As a matter of fact, I actually sat down for a whole five minutes due to a sudden headache before I hit the floor. I made it through maybe the first line and a half of the first verse after standing up...not entirely sure when I lost consciousness.

Thankfully, Amber caught me on my way down (according to reports from bystanders). Between her, Jason the EMT, and Jamie the Lifeguard, I was in pretty capable hands (har-har). Dad did drag me to the doctor, which I resent a little bit, and as usual, it was determined that nothing is wrong with me.

I'm probably just super stressed. Not to mention the stress has been amplified because I lost a whole afternoon and evening of homework time, and my first 12-page paper is due on Thursday at 1:30. It's the history paper that my professor said will be graded according to a higher standard than my classmates because I'm brilliant.

Well. I hope she likes disappointment, because the best I can do is much less than I had anticipated. Which is frustrating. I hate, hate, hate doing mediocre work.

School should die. It sure is killing me.

one of those times...

Lately it feels as though nothing is working out.

I was made student lead at my job. You'd think that would be a good thing, but no. I hate being in charge, particularly when it's a position for which I was never trained because (surprise) it never existed before. It's so frustrating having curators and metadata specialists coming to me for answers to questions I've never known needed to be asked. To every day send people to ask someone else because I don't know what to do.

The paper I'm writing is too smart for me. I don't even understand the eight pages I wrote -- and I don't know if my professor will like it. I'm writing way out of my league because it's fascinating, but honestly? I'm terrified I'll get called out for writing a paper on personal racial identity when -- hello -- white girl right here. I mean, the fact that I'm white doesn't mean that I can't discuss racial issues. It sure is terrifying, though.

The air conditioner broke this morning. And it's the hottest week of the summer so far.

At the same time that nothing seems to be going right, things are going okay. I mean, having a position created for me because the curators recognized that I at least have potential is pretty great. They picked me, out of the seven students -- and me being here the least amount of time.

The paper I'm writing is too smart for me. Yeah -- that's kind of a good thing, right? Because if it's too smart for me, yet I wrote it and the thoughts came from me, then I must be headed in a good direction.

Today is the coolest day of the hottest week of the summer. It's cloudy and overcast, with a nice wind blowing -- kicks up a lot of dust, but the house might not turn into an oven by the end of the day.

Plus, I made a new friend. She's a custodian for the library, and she is one of the sweetest people I've ever known. She told me all about how she used to work at Disneyland, and her vacation to New Orleans this summer with her family. She had the strangest earrings I've ever seen, and was totally focused on getting things cleaned up in the stacks where the construction crew had made a mess. She also noticed things that have been broken or sitting around by my desk for months that I didn't know what to do with, and just took care of them for me.

How nice is that?

And so, things aren't all that bad. It just feels that way.

falling apart...

So the doctor appointment fell through.

                        A pay raise also fell through.

                                            Going on vacation this summer fell through.

                                                                             Housing for summer fell through.

                                                                                                 And the engagement fell through.

But no worries. I have a great life.

I wrote a fairly decent 15 page paper in 8 hours.

I got 100% on my group presentation for Sociology.

I got assigned to review the entire Jimmy Stewart collection at work (talk about a summer project).

I was put in charge of the Cecil B. DeMille collection (over 1,000 boxes of material that need to be processed or catalogued and numbered, which I will be supervising -- talk about a summer AND fall project).

I have parents and sisters who call, text, and email me on a frequent basis to check on me and say hello.

I have an awesome room mate.

I have three wonderful dogs.

And I (still) have a great boyfriend.

Life's good.

ER, anyone?

At 10:00 tonight, I got a call from a friend informing me that another friend was in serious trouble.

So I called a different friend with a car, and we kindly forced the troubled friend into said car. And then drove to the emergency room. After which, we spent 30 minutes trying to get her out of the car and into the ER.

Finally, she agreed to come in. Very reluctantly. I pretty much pushed her across the parking lot.

At 1:00 this morning, Chelsea came and picked me up because the migraine I had this morning started coming back. And I have a 12 page paper to finish that is due at 8:00 this morning.

So. That's taken care of for now. Not the paper, but the friend in trouble.

Never taken a friend to the ER before.

Never pulled an all-nighter as a BYU student before, either (and school is out tomorrow...what?).

Never thought I'd like a Christmas song featuring C-Lee and the Muppets. NEVER.

Now to write 3 more pages. And maybe get some sleep. But after two 20 ounce bottles of Coke Zero, that might not be happening. We'll have to see.

almost made it...

...to the end of the semester without another migraine.

It's been liiiiiiiiiike...a month since the last one? And then BAM! 

Sneaky little devil. Was not expecting that. Was not expecting the migraine prevention medication to make things worse, either. I don't think I'll take it anymore...every time I've tried it, the headache is worse than if I stick with Coke and aspirin. But luckily things are looking up. The last hour has been a lot better. Hopefully it'll continue in that direction -- I've got a paper to write before tomorrow morning. Sorta snuck up on me.

Actually, it didn't sneak up on me. I just haven't wanted to write it.

finals weekend...

I'm dying.

Not literally dying, but metaphorically dying. As in my brain cannot seem to function and my eyes want to stay shut forever.

How is it possible for me to have so much to do, yet be so bored?

Honestly, I do not know how I'm going to retain all of this information. All of it is familiar because I discussed it (or listened to my professor drone for an hour every other day) in classes three times a week, but really. I don't know how I'll write good, solid mini essays on events/people/books when I am required to prepare for 41, but only need to know 10. So much information.

Not to mention that same professor, who I have two classes with, told my entire American Studies class that we are "terrible writers" and that "some of your essays are so bad that I just read through the first paragraph and wrote 'I quit' on the top, then gave you a C. If you'd spent time on your essays, and actually attempted to do a good job, I might have read all of it. But really -- it's not like you're freshmen. Really, just awful. Awful."

If I didn't need a good grade, I would write, "I read the first question and it was so bad that I realized I can't take this exam because I don't have enough time to actually attempt to do a good job. I quit."

Temptation. Plagues me to no end.

worst shift ever...

I do not exaggerate when I say that I had my three worst ever tutorials yesterday. All right in a row.

The first one was awful because a student came in who had a huge statistical analysis research paper due the next day at 5 p.m. She spoke nothing of the writing in the paper, and wanted me to evaluate the observational study she wanted to do that afternoon. I have a little bit of statistical knowledge, but nothing like what she wanted. Stats 121 was the bane of my existence last semester. I didn't know what to do, and I tried to help her as best I could. Plus, she was an international student from China, and she barely understood half of what I tried to explain. 

She was super stressed out about the paper, and kept saying she didn't get what I meant and that I wasn't understanding her assignment. Huh. Imagine that. I'm a writing tutor, not a stats TA! We didn't read any of her paper, and she wanted me to give her all of the answers for writing her thesis, saying "Write what you would say for me." No. Do you want me to lose my job? Because I don't want to.

Tutorial number two was only awful because of the subject material. The guy was great. He's a Women Studies minor, which surprised me so much that I actually stared at him, thinking it was a joke (there are a lot of good guys at BYU, but I find that many of them have a 'women are second class' mentality, even if they don't come right out and say it -- it's a subconscious cultural thing here). But he was serious. I was excited to work with him, until I read his thesis. It was an analysis of the impact that popular literature has on girls' perceptions of the ideal relationship, using the Twilight novels as the basis for his observations. 

I had to hold back tears the whole time, because I kept seeing myself in the paper. After what happened on Monday night -- I've been a bit of a nervous wreck (as my coworkers and room mate can attest to). His paper was really great because it did an excellent job of pointing out instances of abuse, male dominance, and how victims come to behave. But it was really hard to read -- he noticed and asked if I was okay. I sort of shrugged it off and just said that it all sounded familiar. The look on his face was so kind and compassionate. Worst tutorial ever -- not because of him, but because I could barely hold myself together. Mom said I should have given him my number -- yeah, right. Although he was really cute.

Third the worst. I kid you not, it was the worst tutorial ever. The lady who came in for help was probably in her mid-sixties, and she was the rudest, meanest person I have ever met at BYU. She brought in a 59 page paper and wanted me to do all of the citations for her, in Chicago format. I've never used Chicago before, and no one else in the Center uses it. We all use MLA or APA. When I told her that, she got so upset at me, and started bossing me around and telling me that I was unhelpful. "You don't know this format? Well, are you a writing tutor, or aren't you?" Um...yes. And last time I checked, you aren't, madam. 

After spending ten minutes trying to help with handouts, the Internet, and a manual, she handed me her 59 pages and told me to read it. I'm not supposed to read students' papers without them -- they read them aloud and I follow along. We're also not supposed to read all of long papers -- especially when we have a three hour wait (yep). When I told her those things, she snatched her paper from me and said, very loudly, "So you can't help me." I was so shocked that I just sat there, stuttering that yes, I could help, but that I had to follow the rules. Then she snorted and said, "So. You won't help me."

I was absolutely stunned. Of course I would help her, but I have to follow the policies and procedures of the Center. I even tried to explain to her that I had to be available to help other students, and I pointed at the line out the door. She just glared at me and said, "Will you help me or not?" I didn't know what to do at that point, and because she was older, I couldn't tell her off like I can a student. And so, for 60 minutes, I sat with her while she read her paper, criticizing me for all of my comments and telling me that I didn't get it. Duh, I didn't get it. She wouldn't tell me about the paper, shushing me when I asked her what the assignment was and saying, "I am reading." She wouldn't listen to anything I said, and if I so much as moved in my chair, she'd stop and glare at me, "You're not paying attention. Listen."

Dana and Chloe saved me. They were watching, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that they were just as stunned and unsure as I was. Eventually, Chloe came over and stopped the tutorial, pointing to the line of students needing help. I was so relieved; I'd been trying not to cry the whole time.

Chloe, Dana, and I have now developed a system of signaling each other if something like that ever happens again. Chloe taught us the ASL signs for "help me" and "do you need help." I'm going to memorize that for future semesters.

Good thing today is not yesterday. Just a bit nervous...the lady is coming back today. I swear, if it's my turn to tutor, I'll fake sick or slip Chloe a note to pull the fire alarm at 20 minutes into the tutorial. Not that we'd ever pull the fire alarm. But it is often a muttered sentiment as one of us leaves the table to help particularly infamous writing students. 

clearly I am not left handed...

If I had a camera, I would take a picture and show you, BUT seeing as mine has been commandeered once again by my mother, I will just tell you about it.

I finished another paper tonight (and Jeff was kind enough to read it, as was my dad, both of whom said that it looks good -- banking on them being right). Chelsea, Jeff, and I turned on the TV because we can, and then we realized that it was three hours earlier than we thought it was: 7pm instead of 10pm. Chelsea and I had time to do our nails!

Given that it is now December (and pouring rain outside so hard that my dog started barking), I decided to paint my nails red. And then...I got creative.

'Tis the season, right?

Let's just say that the green stripes on my left hand look much better than the green stripes on my right hand.

If you can even call those stripes. Good grief. When I get my camera back (tomorrow -- or else), I may take a photo and show you. Perhaps you'll think it as funny as I do. And by funny, I mean funny looking.

new girl...

I'm noticing a pattern in my life. Every school semester, I end up starting a new job of some sort. This next semester will be no different.

Meet the newest workflow technician for BYU's Special Collections department in the Harold B. Lee Library.

Hi. Pleased to meet you, too.

Two hours of training over the past two days, and I've already seen some pretty cool stuff.

Like...

all of Jimmy Stewart's papers/photographs/etc. And his typewriter.

Like...

a sheet of war bonds from the Confederate States of America valued at over $10,000 (my supervisor ran across those as he was looking for other documents to display -- yeah, the bonds are now locked in the vault -- good luck getting in there).

Like...

the pencil case from Hitler's desk. And a piece of the desk to go with it (or so we were told).

Like...

government appointment certificates signed by Ulysses S. Grant (also in the vault).

Never have I been this excited to be the new kid on the block. I get to work with my childhood friend, Brittan, and the other two people I've met so far seem really great. Abe, another student, is friendly and charming. Jeffrey, my supervisor, is funny and intelligent, and he doesn't mind all of my questions.

Now to get through the mind-numbing training videos so I can start the actual work. I still can't believe it -- a job in my field. Finally. So stoked.

should have been an English major...

Remember that 12 page paper?

Done.

In 4 hours.

WIN.

And I actually feel that it's pretty decent for the most part. There are a couple of places that need some polishing, but seeing as the final product isn't due until December 13th (a complete draft is needed for full credit during the in class work shopping), I have some time to spruce it up (like a Christmas tree -- yep, it's almost midnight).

Now to take it to school tomorrow and have it peer reviewed. Which means that after I get the 100% grade for bringing it in and having another student look at it, I will promptly disregard all of his/her remarks and take it to the Writing Center for a coworker to look at instead.

Anthropology students struggle at peer reviews. Just saying.