My classes seem bearable, for the most part. I have Theater with a post-partum Sarah Silverman look-a-like, who admits to crying in her office during office hours, wondering how she will manage life as a new mother and continue teaching.
I wake up at 8 to go to World Politics with Professor Ngcoya, which, yes, is pronounced as a tongue-click. After 6 hours, I join my floormate Natalie in College Writing, which is taught by a middle-aged pierced man, who has managed to turn the class into a philosophical-sociology course. And then, when I should be going to bed, I instead trot across campus to attend Arabic, where the class has bonded in our experience of finding the mysterious location of this room resembling Snape's Potions basement.
Wednesdays, the day when most students have no classes, starts off with Spanish taught by a gangly white boy from New Mexico with dark-rimmed glasses. It ends with "Leadership Gateway," which I really have no idea what it is, or what the course entails.
Thursday and Friday are similar to Monday and Tuesday, with a slight change in the order of events. The workload for now is manageable, with mostly only reading to do. But looking back on this past week, I have been forced to wonder...
Everyone says college is the best four years of your life. I really can't imagine looking back on this week in 10 years and longing to do it again. The days are repetitive and tedious, filled with minute tasks. I'm sure its only because its still the first week and campus life has yet to pick up, but I must ask myself, what in the world was Asher Roth talking about, and how can I get into that school?
No comments:
Post a Comment