I've taken over the front row table because no one sat next to me, but I don't care anymore because it's made room for my assault of accoutrements*: a disappointing overvalued latte from the school cafe, half-empty bottle of tap water, calculator, finance book, 2 notebooks, pen, pencil, highlighter, list of formulas on one side, roomful of accents on the other. Nobody wants to be my partner — I am the only blonde, the youngest student, and stereotypes abound! The fluorescent lights are bright enough to photosynthesize a rainforest and by the end of the three-hour class, my eyeballs feel like they just got a Brazilian wax. When I leave, I am exhausted, confused, stressed, isolated, and...happy.
Up until now, I've been fighting my disheartenment (real word?) since transferring, because St. Edward's so far has been little more than a hemorrhage on my bank account. Sort of like I thought I was riding the Titan but then looked around and realized I was actually on the teacup ride and just barfed cotton candy onto myself. Five out of my six teachers so far have just let their students sliiiiide right through and it's taken almost no effort to do well. I know saying that is like the verbal equivalent of a fanny pack, but grad school should be all about the disonnance theory — the harder you work, the more valuable the reward, right? That being said, I'm now into my fourth semester here, I seem to have finally waded through the entry level classes, and I'm happy to see that I'm finally getting my ass kicked.
And now...back to the books (seriously).
*Please note this is my favorite word, ever ever.
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