Wednesday, January 19, 2011


I'm just back to college, and while that means I am seeing a great many lovely people who I haven't hung out with in almost eight months, it also means that classes are starting and blogging opportunities aren't as numerous as they otherwise might be. Also, I'm starting to gear up for Junior I.S., which I've just learned cannot in fact be a creative project, which throws my entire scheme that I cooked up over winter break into the garbage can.

You know, I'm looking out the window and feeling whimsical, and what the hell: I don't think I've ever in my life seen something and fallen in love at first sight. Books, maybe, and reading and all that, but looking at my favorite things of all, I don't think I can point to a single one that I didn't hate at the start. Classical music? Hated that. Hated playing it, hated the cello, hated listening to it, back when I was being made to do it. Nowadays it's my favorite genre (well, top two) and playing it is one of my great loves.

Wooster? Welllll.... I didn't hate it, but I didn't give a damn about it either. I wanted to go to the University of Minnesota, or maybe Madison, or even Reed College on the West Coast. Pretty much anywhere else. I'm not sure I even blinked when I got the acceptance letter from Wooster, much less jumped for anything, including joy. But six rejection letters later, Wooster was my best option, and I've spent a wonderful two years here (and a half in DC).

Writing? Sheeeesh. I used to despise the paper-writing process. When I was a freshman in high school, I had so much disdain for English classes that I'd populate my rough drafts with characters they mentioned in The Boondocks. I thought the whole "Brainstorm-Outline-Rough Draft-Final Draft" was just a bunch of meaningless assignments they thought up to torture you, rather then assist you, and cheerfully ignored them all. Now I'm an Engrish major, which means signing up to go through a whole season of the same, and surprisingly enough I don't hate the idea.

I'm not sure what it means that a lot of the things I've had the most fun with, I had to be dragged into kicking and screaming, except to keep a careful eye on the next thing circumstance makes me do that looks like the most boring, tedious, exasperating junk since the SATs. Might just be fun.

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