Bearing down

There's a break coming up. If I can but grit my teeth and GET IT DONE I get to think about nothing for three whole weeks! Yeah, right. 

First, there's a lot to do to finish this up - some of it needs a little attention, some of it a lot. I'm trying hard, but perhaps not hard enough - I just don't know. 

Perhaps it's perfectly normal to feel completely, totally and utterly inadequate in these circumstances - you know, when the shit is hitting the fan and you remember that your umbrella is broken. I shall have to ask my fellow students.

So anyway, I'm gritting my teeth. I'm bearing down. I'm preparing for the final push. 

Yep, the baby's on its way!

J

Disagreements

As much as you learn in school I believe that life teaches you more. The trick is being open to it - being receptive. I find myself listening a lot here - fifth-wheel syndrome, if you will - with agreement and disagreement, depending on the need. 

There are good things being taught here, but there are also the follies of youth - the incompleteness of cognition. Radical (in some cases) beliefs born of partial education. 

Today was a case in point. The discussion revolved around our values - "who we are". Not cogito ergo sum, but what we believe and why. One student was of the belief - if I understood correctly - that 'we are what we do'; a position that was apparently already in contradiction of the 'you are what you have' beliefs espoused by her parents - see the Book of Possessions, Chapter One, Verse One. Her way out of that very shallow, ignoble, materialist viewpoint was noble, but it was restricting. 

I appreciated what she was saying, though, and tried to reinforce it with the notion that we're far more than what we have - that what we possess is only borrowed and temporary at that. I tried to aver that what we think we own is incidental at best, irrelevant at worst. 

It's true: some people do define themselves by what they have, but I believe they are misguided, and that even a small amount of contemplation in or before their frail dotage will inevitably bring them to that conclusion. 

I tried to impart something that I have learned: that we are a product in fact of everything. Everything we have felt, everything we have heard or seen, everything we have learned, been taught, inferred or extrapolated. Every smell we've ever noticed has influenced our thinking - possibly for a very long time - the music we have decided to love, the writing we enjoy, the poetry we've written or read, the channels we watch, the things that make us sing and those that make us cry. Our angst-givers, our joy-bringers, our anger-makers. Contemplations, reactions, deliberations - all - ALL - serve as the backdrop to what we believe, how we feel, decisions we make, how we react to stimuli, what gives us pain or joy, and so - who we are.

I will readily grant you: age has taken its toll on my thinking. The lustre is off the old diamond, the youthful idealism is all gone and university's not changing that one bit - not because I'm incapable of changing but because it's not showing me anything that suggests I should change. If anything, I'm bringing my experience to bear on discussions that might otherwise proceed simplistically. I'm not saying that's good or bad, just that it provides perspective and that there's a depth in my perception that does not - cannot - exist for young people. I've seen more and heard more than any of them, and this fact alone makes my beliefs and values different. Not right or wrong, just different.

Because we are all a product of our experiences. 

J

The big blow

It's Monday morning, and it has just occurred to me that this is basically the last week of class. Unbelievable! Now doth the heart beat faster as the realization of impending doom, er, deadlines hits me hard at last.

Of course, it doesn't help that today I have the germ of one of my headaches. It's weather-related this time - you see, yesterday it was 13C but we had force one hurricane winds through - trees down, trucks blown over, roofs blown off - that sort of thing. Then last night it snowed, and the pressure differences required to make that sort of thing happen just play havoc with my head. 

Some days it gets really bad, but today I hope to be too busy studying to think about pain. If it doesn't work out that way I'll have to make up the time because - refer to above - there's only so much time left. It's a conundrum.

Well, now je mange, and then, off to do some secondary research.

J

A pastoriori

Would you believe there are only two more weeks of classes left? It seems like only yesterday I was at orientation, getting used to the environment, using all my energy just to say hello. I know I felt self-conscious to begin with - being the only fartster in the class - but that didn't last long and now all I get is an occasional twinge when someone looks at me sideways in the library - registering my greying locks - perhaps for a moment wondering what in Sam Hill I'm doing there. I just pretend I'm a grad student working on a dissertation or something, and the twinge goes away.

I'm working hard on my studies. I have left, what, one large report, one minor exam, two quizzes and two more exams? I seem to be making friends and breaking them. The T/A in GNST doesn't seem to like me - oh well - but I've been invited by some students into their study group for the GNST exam. Hard to believe I had to wait 'til 46 to become one of the cool kids.

Can't bitch too much about the weather either. One little cold spot in the last two months, but mostly reasonable. I don't think that weather contributed to the cold I picked up in week two - by the way, I'm still coughing a little - just as I predicted. That, as I believe I mentioned at the time, is how colds go with me.

I never did pick up the Gauntlet thing again. A few things at play there: I guess I'm a sensitive old duck when it comes to my writing - because I work so hard at it - and I don't like going to all the trouble of doing the interview and spending four hours writing the piece, being told it's perfect, then not recognizing it when it hits print. Read: a fundamental disagreement on the role of the editor.

Another thing at play is the F-bomb; they want it, and I don't need it. I don't want it anywhere near my writings. I know, it's a youth thing - pressing the envelope, stretching the limits - but last I heard they were having trouble securing advertisers. I wonder why...

Well, got to go make my bed now.

J

Deep dip

No, I'm not talking about myself, though you would be forgiven for thinking so. I'm talking about yesterday and where it stood on the roller coaster.

There was a long climb, a jerk, a slow apex and a long, screaming-fast descent into the abyss. Then there was a plateau - a long rest, five hours in the waiting room - as I waited to get out and move on to the next ride. Actually it was a tough day.

But that's enough of that metaphor.

I keep hoping my blog will become more analytical - right now it's opinion at best, invective at worst. Of course, it's part personal journey, so it must have some personal elements.

As far as that goes, I think of Plato's Allegory of the Cave and wonder where I am right now. Let's look at it. First, I'm aware that the cave exists. Second, I'm aware that sunlight exists. Ok, good start - I'm ahead of those other guys.

Am I chasing the sunlight? Some would say that just by being in the halls of learning I am chasing the sunlight. But am I nevertheless enslaved - shackled? Staring uselessly at my images on the provided wall? Pretty much.

So when does enlightenment begin? When do I get to see sunlight? Is all of life spent in the Cave? Am I - are we - doomed to a lifetime in the cave, satisfied with what we are shown? How do we get out? Must we be shown out, or can we find our own way? Is our own Hell tied up in satisfaction, or dissatisfaction?

Is God running the projector?

J

Waiting

There's something singular about hanging around in hospital waiting rooms. Truth be known, it sucks - especially in the cancer clinic. Especially in this waiting room, which at 6 x 11 is obviously intended for five people, not the ten they've got chairs for.

I'm not looking for sympathy at all, but it's difficult to do this kind of thing and study at the same time. It's also difficult to write an exam on the same day you have to do something like this. The only thing that could make it more difficult is if I were the one being prepped for treatment. I'm not, but it's still difficult.

Exams. People... What's wrong with sitting still after an exam and waiting for time to expire? What's wrong with respecting your fellow students' right to an atmosphere that's conducive to concentration? If that can't be done then what's wrong with the idea of leaving quietly? Packing up and going "quietly" - not banging your desk, scraping your feet, talking to your friends, again - respecting your fellow students' right to quiet?

Does anyone think this way anymore? I went and spoke to a Department Head after that exam this morning - I was some pissed, let me tell you. He told me that the quick students demand the right to get on with their day after writing their paper and it's not their fault I'm so goddamned slow. Well, he didn't say those words exactly, but that's what he meant. He suggested that I try to make arrangements though disability to write my exams in a quiet environment, or to arrange to write it during a Prof's office hours so that the level of noise can be controlled a bit better. That made me feel great. I'm not disabled -Ii just want peace and quiet. What is so unreasonable about that?

I told him i don't have a problem with people leaving after writing a quiz, but when the whole course hinges on that exam I think a person should be allowed to concentrate on doing their best, regardless of another person's need to play video games!

Oh, listen to me. I sound like an old fart. I guess I'm just not feeling very generous at the moment.

J

What's that noise?

That? Oh, that's the sound of the blood rushing through my head. It's the heady feeling one gets when one suffers the realization that one doesn't have the answer to one of the quiz questions before one.

At such moments are reputations hung. On such reasoned, seasoned extrapolative assessments do degrees depend. At such times are - nay - must be called upon the reconstructive skills of one's distant past. In such frames of reference do we call to question our abilities as old farts to remember anything, let alone what we must.

I promise to put this tense to bed for good. Starting now.

J