Veni, Vidi, Vici

Well, hello, there. I'm just sitting here feeling even more successful than I did on Wednesday. The reason: I defended my honors thesis this afternoon.

Really? It's done? What once sounded like such an intimidating concept?

But I put my work into the project, and it paid off. While they say most students have to do some final revisions after the defense before turning it in, I walked away without having to do any--my professors told me that was the first time they had ever said that to anyone. Excuse me while I go and gloat.

Really? That was me? I was the one to not need to do revisions?*

What a wondrous concept. Following this discovery came dinner at House of Tricks (Tempe people, go eat there if you've never been) (there may have been a glass of champagne involved) and a walk by Tempe Town Lake in the cool and calm evening air.

Goodness, how do I ever end up achieving anything? You really can do anything if you try to, can't you? Can it be so true that possibilities are limitless?


*Of course, I was the first person for these three professors--not the first person ever.

"With Honors"

Yesterday I went to pick up my honors cords for graduation and let me tell you, it is such a different experience getting honors cords for college than for being in the top 10% of your high school class. I went to a smallish sort of high school, where the fact that I was in the top 10% didn't seem to necessarily mean much. But when you go to pick up honors cords for the highest (out of three) academic recognition (based on GPA), that's something.

At ASU, honors cords are maroon, gold, or both. I knew which I was getting, but it was still an unbeatable moment when the person at the office handed me my summa cum laude cords (yes, this is based on my GPA as of last semester, so it's subject to change on my diploma depending on the grades I get this semester--but I don't think I'm doing any worse than usual this semester). Instead of putting them away immediately, I had to hold them for a minute while I walked out of the building, stroking the bright yellow and red. Then I started walking around campus thinking, I've conquered!

I walked down Palm Walk beaming, looking at all the familiar sights from the last four years. I was seventeen when I first started walking this campus; now, years later, it seems that not so little has changed until I take the time to think about what I have learned and what I have achieved since then. I am still young and I still know nothing, but I have done a bit more and realized a bit more than I had back then.

High school graduation is just something you do (that is, it was for me). But college graduation (I'm only going to the honors college convocation, by the way) is different. It means success and it means the end of an era. I'm not going to graduate school: this is it. So I've tried to make the most of these four years and judging by those honors cords, I think I've succeeded.

(Oh, and on Friday I defend my honors thesis--should I be nervous or excited?)

On the Looming Horizon

It's so strange.

Earlier this week, I met with both my regular advisor in the English department and my honors college advisor to make sure I had all the classes I'll need to graduate this spring. And I do . . . And I find that my GPA, to my surprise, is rather high--especially for someone who has never professed to have any interest in GPAs. So that leaves me with four months, maybe less than four months, until I graduate not just from college but also from Barrett, the honors college.

That is so weird.

In this delirious blog of mine, usually I tend not to give much in the way of personal details. But at this moment, I will give my age as twenty-one. Such an age makes my upcoming graduation even stranger: I'm just a couple years older than what some people are when they graduate high school.

And yet here I am, sitting and looking at this looming horizon. But is it really a single moment, an epic event that will change everything? Four, three, even two years ago, when I told people I still wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to "do," that was okay. But now, "they" start wanting you to have an answer. And I may have one, as complicated and delirious an answer as I give to anything. But that isn't always the answer I "can" give: I realize the youngness of this day in my life. I realize that graduating college, while something to be proud of, is only one moment. Anything can follow it. And any number of things can follow it. There is not one single word that can encapsulate what the rest of my life after this moment will be, especially since I do not know yet everything that will happen in and affect my life.

So for now I glance wide-eyed toward May. May the month of potential change, but also May the same month that has come across my life every year these two decades or so I have lived. May it be a month of gladness and courage, as well as one of accomplishment.

Tempe Town Lake (right by ASU)

Calming Antiquing

It's like my professors are trying to punish me.

You see, every semester seems to get harder than the last. And I wonder if part of that is because, subconsciously, I'm expecting more of myself each time. But the fact of it is, these last three weeks are a brutal end to a busy semester. It seems like there are at least three papers or other writing assignments due each week (maybe more--I'm avoiding counting). Yesterday I felt like I was literally going insane from my nonstop working (don't worry, I'm making up for it by dressing in some of my more insane outfits--hello vintage scarf and red lipstick I wore today).

But today I took the morning off (well, some of it, leastways). I did a little of my Christmas shopping--in an antique store like an insane person with an insane family who will enjoy presents from an antique store. It's a big antique store, too, so you can spend a long time there if you really want to look through all the items (and we all know that sometimes that's the only way you'll spot it). I think I only spent about an hour and a half, but my, what that hour and a half did for me.

It was better than therapy, extremely calming. My tired brain had just the right amount to keep it occupied but not overworked. Glancing through items, trying to picture them in people's houses, imagining stories for them, regretting that the really cool things are so expensive, just enjoying the moment. Oh, it was wonderfully refreshing.

Plus, I got two presents out of it (one of them is really good), and another item I'm very tempted to go back and get for myself. Maybe tomorrow . . . or next week? Or maybe I shouldn't . . . we'll see. Maybe it'll be my end-of-semester gift to myself.

The Silent Smell of Dusty Old Books

I ought to be ashamed to admit this, but there is no writing without sometimes admitting things we would rather not remember, is there? So instead of rewriting the past, I admit it: I had never stepped beyond the entrance area of the main library on campus until today. In three years, I only went into the library a couple of times to coordinate for group projects--I never went up to the intimidatingly-called "stacks."

But why such an intimidating name? "The stacks." It really just means shelves and shelves of books. And it wasn't even a complicated navigation. I looked up the book I wanted on my phone, got the info on its location, matched that info up to the library map, took the elevator up and up, followed the signs, and there was the Shakespeare section. There right in front of me sat about four editions of the book I wanted (though, incidentally, none were the type of edition I needed). Since they didn't have what I wanted, I kept looking until I found something else I could use for my project/paper.

Having set aside the time, I spent two hours in near silence, staring at shelves of old, crusty books about Shakespeare. I had trouble reading the titles on the top shelf, so I spent almost half the time standing on a stool like a silly short person. Other times I perched on the floor, reading the bottom titles, or half-sitting on the stool to glance through a book.

Every so often, I would smile at a cover, a cover so warped with age that it had become tremblingly romantic-looking. Or a book so old I wasn't sure I could believe it was actually over a century old--surely it had to be a newer publication. A few times, I brought the aged pages to my face to smell their vanilla-y essence--some only smelled okay, but others had the aroma of a thousand pages of life.

In two hours, only a few people walked by--and they would have had to look directly into my aisle to pay me any mind. So I was very much alone with mostly aged books for those two hours. It was semi-fascinating.

And I even got to bring home one of the books with me; it's a decrepit old thing that may very well be from 1915. Though not the most gorgeous I saw today, it's still quite a nice thing to behold. Methinks I shall have to pitter patter across the stacks again sometime (as in, hint hint, for my honors thesis?).

On Returning to Classes

Today was the first day back at school for what I expect to be my last year.

It's strange, really. On one side, it felt nice to be back in the same familiar place, surrounded by so many bright and intelligent people. But it's also daunting: walking here and there, my mind calls up images of due dates and deadlines. In a phrase, stress starts walking in my steps across the school.

Stress about the immediate: turning in those forms, updating such and such online, ordering my last batch of books, starting in on reading and other assignments. Stress about the longer term: organizing the work for my honors thesis, setting up other honors credits, planning out what classes I need to take next semester. Even longer term: if I graduate in May, that's really only a few months away--what do I do then? Am I sure I don't want to go to graduate school? What direction do I want to go in job-wise?

At least I had my nice bike ride back home to distract my body from my mind.

(Last note: I have no idea if senior year busyness will mean I won't be able to keep up the rate of posting I have had this summer. It may be harder to find the time to post, but I also find that classes help me think of topics to write about. So we'll see; I promise at least not to disappear entirely.)

In Appreciation Of: Invisible Man

This is the first in what I intend to be a series of posts, spread out over time, that cover books I have read in college that have been very noteworthy but that I had either never heard of or never seen under the label of noteworthy/literary/classic/etc.

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (not to be confused with the H.G. Wells novella The Invisible Man) was published in 1952. (In fact, I mentioned this novel in my Fourth of July post.) It has been about a year and a half since I read it in a Major American Novels class, which was in fact a class filled with depressing novels that really began to weigh heavy on me. At times I think I almost impressed the character of the Invisible Man (he remains nameless in the novel) onto myself, allowing any little struggles of my own to become combined into the scope of his.

That's the thing about this novel: it describes a specific situation, but is relevant also on a much wider scope--and that's what tends to make things classics. On one side, it's a racial novel, addressing the dehumanization of a group of people. But everyone goes through similar struggles to the narrator's, even if not nearly on the same level or for the same reasons. Everyone, at some point, struggles with who they are and knowing how to express that and knowing how to set up their lives. It's a novel about prejudice, but it's also a novel about self-discovery and discovery of the world around you, including the fact that the world doesn't tend to tailor itself to your needs and wants.

Yet I had never even heard of Invisible Man. Admittedly, it is still a fairly new book, but at sixty years old, it's time it gets some wider recognition: it earned its place on my American Novels syllabus.

Popcorn Break

I am having an extraordinarily difficult time focusing on writing this paper, this last item of work for the semester. As I sat staring at the blinking cursor on Word, I pondered not on how to finish my sentence but on how it might help if I had some chips to snack on while writing. But I don't have any chips in the cabinet, and almonds just don't seem interesting right now. Then I remembered the jar of popcorn and jumped up to put some on the stove. Anything to avoid my paper.

It's been months since I last made popcorn--I was worried I would just make a burnt mess or add too much for the size pot I was using (I mildly detest the idea of microwave popcorn). But, no, it turned out perfect, the perfect amount, too, and in hardly any time at all. There is nothing so jovial as the sound of popcorn kernels popping up against the sides of a metal pot, bursting into pretty white flowers of edible joy. Add a little salt and you have perfection.

. . . Did I say perfection? Oh, dear, that means this is also the perfect snack for paper writing, in which case I am out of excuses to delay any longer. (Have you noticed that it is become my ritual to "warm up" for paper writing by posting ramblings about what food I am eating or some such other random topic? Whatever works.)

Campus Ramblings

It's story time today.

So I got to campus a little early today since I had one or two things to do before class. Those done, I found I was getting hungry, or at least I knew I would be after sitting through two classes. So I found myself something to snack on and headed toward some shady benches near my first class's building.

But the benches were gone.

You see, they're replaced a lot of the cement benches and picnic tables with some of a new material that looks like metal but doesn't heat up in the sun (try sitting on a cement bench in Phoenix while wearing shorts or a short skirt . . .). This corner of campus wasn't part of that switch months ago, but more recently they removed a group of picnic tables . . . and didn't replace them. I would hope that the plan is to replace them eventually, but in the meantime, a nice lunch spot is gone. The shady benches I was looking for are right by where these tables used to be; when they tables were removed, they stayed (right? I think they did . . .). So I lost my shady spot to sit, even though I didn't really have time to walk too far to find a new spot. Note that it reached 100 today, so not any sunny bench would do for even just a few minutes (at least, I didn't feel like that much sun today).

I ended up in a spot nearby, but still I find that rather unkind of my university to take away my poor snacking bench.

Another event caught my interest, this time from my second class. Although finals don't officially start until Thursday, we were taking ours today for this class. After we got our tests, the professor walked out for a few minutes to go to her office. While she was gone, nobody talked, passed around answers, or did anything out of the ordinary. Why is that?--the question endlessly amuses me. Even just a high school class would at least have to giggle at the prospect of being able to cheat, even if they did nothing more. But we, I suppose, had no reason to react. By asking for an answer, you would probably only be able to add a point or two to your score, anyway; there wouldn't be much point. And if you need more help than just a quick question, you're going to do badly no matter what. And even just a quick comment is pointless; it also takes time, and we all want to finish quicker rather than slower so that we can leave (high school students have to stay the whole class time, anyway). Not that I finished any more than three or four minutes early . . . but I got an A+ on my mid-term, so speed isn't my main object.

Just curious ramblings about my day. Now a shout of excitement that I only have a final project to finish, a final paper, one final, and another writing assignment/project before I can submit to summer. Just four more things to do . . .

Optimism Over Pessimism.

Today is kind of trying to be "one of those days." But I don't want to allow that.

I don't have class on Fridays, but I had a meeting on campus for a group project, so I had breakfast and did some reading, then took my bike over. The weather today is probably the warmest of the year so far, which is nice . . . but also, well, warm. After my ride, I go to our designated meeting spot and wait. Two people had emailed that they wouldn't be able to make it, and as I was waiting one more person emailed the same message. But I thought, well, that's okay, there are still about three more people. So I sit there. And I wait. And then I take out a book for another class and start reading so as not to waste time. One o'clock turns into 1:15, then 1:30; I leave at 1:40, not having seen any of my group.

Oh, well, I say, as I go back to my bike to head home. Then as I'm waiting at an intersection just by home, I see a thorn in my front tire. I pick it out and listen to air squeezing out of the inner-tube. I contemplate how much money is in my bank account while hurrying to pedal the last half-block before all the air is gone. I get home hungry, thirsty, and grumpy.

But it's still okay. Thirsty is easily remedied by water, and I found a nice apple to snack on while watching Kaleb Nation's newest video. The video turns out to be great, and my smiles chase away the grumpiness (most of it, at least).

I used to be obsessed with the word "balance." Sometimes, like now, I'm reminded of why. Sometimes it's too easy to fall into pessimism, but even a single optimistic bit can tip that balance right back in favor of contentment. And that, in turn, is why even YouTube videos can serve many purposes: they can be that one spark that brings you back up and into focus. (Which I certainly need since I, once again, find myself needing to read hundreds of pages this weekend . . . )

Procrastinating

What do I do when I don't want to write a paper? Blog about nothing. Consider this my attempt at Post-Modernism, if you will.

I have written an amazing one and a half pages out of a total of about five and a half. The bad thing is that it is 5:42 in the evening and this paper is due tomorrow morning. In my defense (since of course I must make a justification) is that tomorrow I have this paper due along with two final projects and their written defenses. The first of the final project pairs is done; the second project is almost done, with its written defense on my agenda for tomorrow. But I still have four more pages to write tonight about Paradise Lost.

I had meant to hang around campus for at least a couple of hours after class today, writing away. But it was cloudy today and the wind and the cold were growing, so I came home and wrapped the first Christmas present to go under the tree instead. Wrapping presents is much more fun than writing papers.

Now I sit at my desk and still find reasons to get up. Oh, it's time to turn on the light. Oh, I have to go get my power cord. My, but my fingers are cold. How am I supposed to type if my fingers are cold? So I go get my blue "Bella" jacket (yes, it is the jacket), deciding that ought to cheer me up. I pause to choose new music. I decide I can take the time to look up synonyms for words. I double check something on the assignment. I spend more time than necessary looking through my notes and secondary sources. I take another sip of the strange writing drink I have this time, Mayesa's Cacao Mint (which is rather good).

Then I write a couple of sentences. Then I check what length I'm at and recalculate how much I have left.

Then I wish that I could just extend my fingers at the laptop screen, hum, and see my thoughts all perfectly typed out. I have an outline, so why can't it just write itself?

I decide that looking up what percentage of my class grade this paper is worth might give me some motivation. It's 20%. Oh, that's not that much, I say to myself. I guess that didn't work.

But it's okay. I have six hours left before I go to bed: that's plenty of time to write four pages.

The Novelty of a Teacup

You can tell that I am evading doing something else merely by that title. The thing I am evading is an essay, which, even though it is only a short three pages, I am not feeling particularly inclined to write. So I am pretending that writing a blog post will serve as a sort of warm-up.

After spending half an hour reading the assignment, then wandering aimlessly through my email inbox, I decided that perhaps some tea would help me focus. I often find that eating and drinking can aid writing; I'm not talking about a whole meal here, just something like tea or gummy bears or maybe some sticky caramels that you can contemplate as you contemplate the words you write.

The tea option has become even more attractive since I got a few actual teacups and saucers this summer. They're an off-white color, with a pattern of leaves and flowers in brown, blue, green, yellow, and reddish pink. I used to always drink tea from a large Disney mug: it is no surprise, then, that I find the experience quite different when using a pretty teacup and saucer. The clink of the cup when you lift it up and then set if down again, the need to refill the small space, and even the place to put the tea bag are all so much nicer than the less personal, bulk performance of a mug.

I am tempted to drag this out longer, but I really think I ought to force myself to do that paper now (which happens to be on "The Knight's Tale," which is out of The Canterbury Tales, and "Sir Orfeo"). But first let me pour another cup of tea.

New Classes

My class registration for spring opened on Monday.

I was so anxious/excited/something-like-that to sign up for the three classes I knew I wanted to take that I did so from my phone an hour after my slot opened up (a whole hour later because I had been in class).

Then I spent a week, unsure of what other two classes to add. Today I finally realized I couldn't take it anymore; so what if some people's registration still isn't open, I feel late/remiss/something-like-that not choosing the last two classes.

The result? Many English classes. I hope I didn't swamp myself in reading too much. I'm almost done with general, required classes, so the only one I will be taking next semester is Latin 202 (which, by the way, will probably be my last Latin class -- I don't know if I would enjoy going any further). Also on the agenda: Intro to Contemporary Lit., Major American Novels, American Indian Lit., and a Tolkien-based class on medieval motifs in modern culture or some such notion.

The amazing thing is that they all sound interesting. This is what I remember looking forward to in high school: digging into specific topics, topics that you yourself choose. Latin is a crazy puzzle, I know I need better insight into modern works, the reading list for the novels class is probably my list-of-books-I-need-to-get-to-someday, Native American studies are just fitting for the Southwest, and a class based on Tolkien is just ideal.

The other perk? Only two classes on Monday and Wednesday, one on Friday, one on Tuesday that isn't until 4:40, and nothing on Thursday. So even if I have a lot of reading, I think my in-class schedule will be loose enough that I'll manage.

A Day In The Life . . .

I don't know where I got the desire to document one of my average days, but here is a Monday in my life.

Waking up at the comfortable hour of 8:30, I make my bed and put on my makeup by the mirror behind my bedroom door. Hence, everything gets spread around the carpet. That's Merle Norman foundation, blush from a Luna Twilight palette, both L'Oreal and Stila eyeliner (one for the bottom, one for the top), Ulta eye shadow, my new Urban Decay eye primer, a Revlon lash-curler, and Dior Fashionshow mascara in waterproof. Suffice it to say that I don't have a favorite makeup brand yet.

Breakfast is a quick affair, either cereal or toast, as I'm usually running late by the time I get to the kitchen and I don't have much of a morning appetite these days. But I do make sure to pack lunch, a juice for when I start getting hungry too early, and my water bottle.

I am now attempting to brush my teeth twice a day instead of once; isn't that praise-worthy? (By the way, it looks like I'm in need of a new toothbrush head, but since Sonicare products aren't exactly cheap . . .)

And I'm out the door. 

My lovely waiting spot for the unreliable bus (unreliable because I've known it to arrive five minutes early, as well as ten/fifteen minutes late . . . which means I have to be five minutes early to the stop, even if I then have to wait a while extra). It faces the rising sun, which can be quite unhandy during the summer.

After my ride, I switch over to walking rather than transferring to a second bus. This really only loses a few minutes, and it allows me to get in a little exercise. Time from bus to classroom: about twenty-five or thirty minutes. It's a little trying sometimes to take this walk at 10:00 when the weather is already in the 90's, but I comfort myself with the fact that it will cool soon. And I really do enjoy "my little walk."

Two classes later and close to 1:00, I seek out a place to lunch. I just discovered this enchanting spot this semester; there are about nine tables under the shade of a few trees. Quiet and comfortable, it's really ideal.

I do try and get some work done during this time; I feel like I'm wasting good time if I don't. Ah, Latin, Latin, Latin.

Last is my 2:00-3:15 English Grammar class; fun stuff. I have a good view (behind me, that is) of the Language and Literature building (where I have most of my classes) as I wait for the bus.

Waiting (again) for the bus transfer, I have a nice view of sky, which I attempted (and failed) to bring to life in this picture. Since this stop faces west, and it's usually afternoon when I wait here, I have that same problem with facing the sun. Oh, well, that's what sunglasses are for, right?

A fifteen minute ride and a seven minute walk bring me back to my apartment, where I check the mail. I begin to have a sort of addiction to checking the mail: it seems I'm always expecting something. A copy of Vogue, a Netflix DVD, or some chocolate samples.

Then I ascend the stairs, up to the sun. Short-lived though this moment is, you can see why it would be memorable. Already hot from being outside, it's not exactly the kind of thing you like to come home to.

Which is why, once inside, I empty my bag carelessly across my bed so that I can get at what I need without having to arrange it all yet.

My folders from the day go back in my new pocket-organizer on my desk.

I usually check up on my sticky-notes of assignments to make sure I know what I need to get done. Pretty light week this time.

And then rest time. Snacking of celery, tortilla chips, and hummus while drinking more water and watching an episode of Bewitched. (And yes, those are cacao nibs and cacao beans in the background, as well as an insulated bag of chocolate -- the consequences of being both a chocolate-reviewer and president of a chocolate club).

That's just about it. Working on school things comes next, then dinner (I can't remember what it was Monday, but Wednesday was chicken with Tikka Masala sauce and some couscous). Maybe a movie online or some reading before bed.