This blog is a collection of a young woman's random thoughts, many tangents, and occasional
short stories and novel excerpts. Stay tuned for plenty of bull and brief moments of brilliance.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Almost Down to the Wire

In two weeks, I'll be done with my first semester of my senior year.
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WTF?

Where did all the time go? I swear, it feels like just yesterday I was getting settled into my new apartment, and already my roommates have signed the lease for next year. Iowa's odd definition of "winter" hasn't exactly helped me come to the realization that time is actually passing. Case in point: it was 60 degrees today, not that I'm complaining or anything. But seriously, it's December.

I've been sitting at the IMU now since 1pm and it took me about four, five hours to go through all my sources for my religion paper. Then typing up all the data, another hour or two. Now I'm switching gears and working on my Latin oration I'll be presenting tomorrow. I presented these same ten lines from Ovid my junior year of high school at Latin convention, so I'm not too worried.

Still left to do before I am scott-free: 8 pg. research paper on the Apocryphal Infancy Gospel of Thomas, 5 pg. paper on the connections between Confessions of an AIDS Victim and a short poem, Latin presentation, final paper (and revision) for playwriting, Children's Lit take-home final, Latin final, Pseudepigrapha and Apocrypha final.

Looking at all that above, I feel the sudden urge to puke incessantly. The thing is, the finals won't be too bad, nor the final play. But when it comes to papers, my approach is a bit odd. I rarely put enough effort into them due to a lack of interest in the subject or care for the class, yet paper writing is something I find quite stressful. But why?

I seem to value my intelligence and college experience overall based solely on my paper performances. As an English major, I expect myself to churn out A/B papers with relative ease. I do usually, but if I don't? Lord help you all. My fragile ego will implode from the realization I fall short of perfection.

Take, for instance, this 8 pg. paper for my religion class. I find the stress of paper writing far worse when I'm writing it for a very learned professor. Yes, most of our professors verge on the side of smart, but you all know the ones I'm talking about: the ones that make you want to be a better student. Luckily, I find about one of these a school year. They make class time amazing but grading time terrifying. At Iowa, those professors for me have been: Holstein, Meredith Alexander, Gilbert, Robert Cargill.

What if I disappoint this brilliant man/woman? Will he/she think less of me? Do I actually matter on their grand spectrum? Probably not...but the idea crosses my mind every so often.

So instead of working overtime on these papers to make them as close to perfection as possible, I put them off for fear of failure and lay an explosion of words on the page moments before the due date. Procrastinating, not out of the love of speed writing like a fucking maniac, but out of fear. Well, this is a bit sad when you really think about it, no?

I fear that this mentality will prove dangerous in the work force.

What happened when I was browsing the internet the other week: a demand from the internet gods.

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