Death, Grades, and Callous Frustrations

I'm finding it hard to focus today. Not only do I have to write out an article for the Star, Houghton's student newspaper, I also have to write a relatively long and boring paper for experimental methods. Both of these are due tomorrow and I'm just not in the mood for writing either of them. I'm nervous and distracted.

My grandmother was hospitalized the other day with some unexplained internal bleeding. It goes without saying that this isn't exactly an ideal situation. My grandmother is quite old, in her 80s, and my grandfather died about two years ago. Basically, it's just not something I want to go through again right now.

Here's the biggest problem. I'm pretty sure this is the kind of thing that pisses people off and alienates family but I'm just going to say it. I am extremely callous about death. I take a very Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five , approach to death. So it goes. Death happens. Get over it. From a fairly young age most people realize they are mortal and, to me, I don't understand how death doesn't become an acceptable part of life at that point. I haven't had an unusually large amount of death in my life, yet I've always been very accepting of it. It's not even a faith thing with me. I don't accept death because it's "going to be with God" or being "promoted to glory." I'm okay with death because this is what happens. This is what has happened for all time and this is what will happen to myself and every single person I ever meet, know, or love. I don't fear or mourn death because it can't be avoided. Death is an intrinsically natural part of life.

"So," you might say, "why is this a bad thing? This gives you an advantage when a family member dies. Death holds no sting for you, you lucky punk." That is true to an extent. I like the fact that I'm okay with death. I like the fact that I can accept something that is so natural, yet so devastating to most people. But it is a problem when everybody around me is different. Nobody else is callous about death, and I can't understand why. It's just outside the realm of my experience.

When my grandfather died I didn't want to go to the funeral. It was inconvenient. The funeral was taking place during finals week in the spring of my sophomore year. Also, I personally felt no need to mourn, or "say goodbye," or anything like that. But my dad wanted me to be there and, though death doesn't make sense to me, I love my Dad and if my presence could help him it was worth the sacrifice (Though it was a sacrifice. I ended up with a 2.0 that semester because I nearly failed all my finals). Jenny, my fiance, came with me. That helped. I needed her to be there to remind me to act sad and be caring and attempt to be sympathetic. Also, I kept falling asleep during the funeral and Jenny dutifully woke me up every time so that my cousins, several of whom were crying, would not notice.

So, I guess that's why I'm nervous and having trouble focusing. It's hard to focus on academia knowing that tomorrow I might receive a phone call saying that my grandmother is dead and I am expected, needed, to drop everything and do some sort of duty. Especially after the academic debacle that was the result of the last grandparent death I'm really not looking forward to dealing with this again. Terrible, callous, inhuman jerk that I am I would just like the dying to be put off until it can be made convenient for me. Not now. Not during my final semester as I am finishing up two majors. I do not have the time. I do not have the energy. I do not have the skill or the knowledge to deal with a family coming to terms with loss, especially when I came to terms with the loss years before it happened.

That's my predicament. I will now spend the rest of the night, possibly pulling an all-nighter (though I would rather not. My right eyebrow is twitching as I write this. That's not healthy), writing and being miserable and nervous about what the future holds. Awesome.

Well, there you go. Whining ago. I should change the name of my blog to "The Whinings of Chris" to more accurately reflect the content. Despite the fact that I may be offending people, particularly my family (I'm going for the family black sheep/outcast position. Can you tell?), by admitting that I fell asleep during my grandfather's funeral and that I don't personally care or feel disturbed about the possible upcoming death of my grandmother it feels good to get it out there. I don't understand why death upsets people, but I do understand how my not caring about something they do care about could upset them. So, I guess I apologize if I hurt or offended anyone.

Anyway, I should probably stop rambling now. I have nothing more to say. Ramble, ramble, ramble...done.

Winter is Senioritis Season

It's been well over two weeks since I've blogged.

Life drags on in college. I have a schedule written out in Google Calender which, despite playing fast and loose with some parts, is still extraordinarily repetitive. Maybe this is what some would call "senioritis" but I am just so tired of it all. I have a paper due on Tuesday just like I have had papers due on Tuesdays for almost four years now. I know that it is three months to graduation, three months until I never have to spend a day in academia again, but the whole "just hold on, it will be worth it in the end" argument is so desperately unfulfilling. Possibly the most unfulfilling aspect of that particular argument is the uncertainty of the future. Yes, I am struggling through four years of college and graduating with two degrees--both writing, my passion, and psychology, my hobby and "practical," job potential creating degree--for my future. The problem is that, though my college education is for my future, there is no promise of this education actually being worthwhile for anyone other than myself.

I am happy for the things I have learned in my time at Houghton. I love the way my writing has been challenged and improved. I am fascinated by what I have learned in psychology. But, on June 9th I get married and no amount of skilled writing or fascination with psychology will feed my wife. Well, it would if my writing could sell or somebody was interested in hiring someone without a masters in psychology. I guess it's just hard to go on doing schoolwork that makes me miserable when the only good I see coming out of it is a piece of paper.

So why am I writing yet another whiny blog post? Well, I'm a whiny person. Also, I was watching House today and episode 15 in season 6 ("Private Lives") is about a blogger who, like I used to, blogs about everything. I used to blog about every thought and every feeling. All my thoughts and concerns were public and out there and just not bottled up in my mind. It's a weird thing to do, but it helped me a lot. So I guess I, once again, have decided that blogging is good for me and I should make it a part of my life again.

To top it all off I just don't like winter. This is a terrible time of year. I can't walk to class without my skin stinging. I rarely see the sun. Seeing Jenny becomes an ordeal. I can't open my windows. I can't smell grass, or dirt, or trees, or anything. In the spring everything is green and brown and strongly scented with the smell of life. In the summer everything is warm and bright and you move until you lie down to let the sweat dry. In the fall the air is nippy and crisp and there is a rich decaying smell in the leaves. Winter is death. There is a layer of scentless, lifeless snow covering hard ground. And that's it. It's all dead. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of death. Sick of emptiness.

So, that, in essence, is why I don't want to write my paper. If only writing whiny blog posts could convince professors to let me off the hook. I'm going to go cook myself some lunch now and try to be productive.

Driving Me Crazy

Hi, I'm a 22 year old man without my driver's license. I know, I know. Shocking, right? What kind of man am I, what kind of human even, to not have gone through the essential rite of passage like the rest of the world? That seems to be the attitude in America at least. Throughout high-school I lived in Estonia so I couldn't really get an American license and it would have been a huge pain to get an Estonian one. For the first two years of college my parents still lived in Estonia so, despite being in America, what state would I get my license in? Plus, Houghton is in the middle of nowhere so it's not like I can just hitch a ride to the local DMV. But now I am months away from graduation and marriage and, unfortunately in my eyes, I must get my license. Jenny, my fiance, doesn't have her license either and one of us has to do the driving to get to the honeymoon.

All that to say I got my permit and I've been practicing. Ideally I'll be getting my license in April so I need to get used to driving now. It's not that I don't know how to drive, I just need the hours to make it second nature. The biggest problem facing me right now is that driving terrifies me. My heart races the second I go over 45 MPH or I see the headlights of another car coming towards me. I know that I am most likely pretty safe. I mean, I am a very cautious driver, and I assume the other drivers on the road don't want to die either. I just can't drive without a huge adrenaline rush. Yes, it's a thrill. I do enjoy the adrenaline rush. But it's also scary.

I think there's a reason why it's a good idea for people to get their license when they're 16. When you're a teenager you're rash and stupid and believe you're invincible. When you're 16 you're unafraid. Now I am 22 and I have a fiance and a lot of future to live for. Ugh. I guess I'm just a scared old man now. Oh well.

I would apologize again for not blogging consistently but I know if I do that every time I don't blog consistently I'll probably have a long, annoying apology every post. That said, sorry. I just blogged.

Back Again

Well, I haven't blogged since last Thursday. I'm doing pretty badly at this whole "every day" thing. My personal word count for the day is already nearly at 5000 just from homework and I still have to write an article for The Star, Houghton's student newspaper. Basically I've been too whiny and busy to write.

But that is no excuse! I really want to get back to writing on here. Ugh. I have things to blog about and I will get back to this.

Just to throw something out there I can tell you a little bit of what I've been busy with. I am a supervisor at Phonathon. The Houghton Phonathon is, aside from the best job ever, a job where students call alumni, family, and friends of Houghton to raise support for student scholarships. Not only is this clearly a cause I can believe in, but has also been my job here at Houghton since, according to my blog, September 3rd of my first semester. That's almost four years! This past year I have been working as both a caller and a shift supervisor which has been one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life. I love working with the other callers and I love being a leader, at least in that setting. It's hard to explain, but I really enjoy my job. I'm good friends with my boss, Heather, and I like most of my coworkers. That's why I've been working extra lately. Phonathon just recruited nine new callers and they all need to be trained up and put to work. So I've been helping out with that. Other than classes  and homework regular work has been the big thing going on in my life lately.

So, lamest blog post ever. This reminds me why I stopped blogging in the first place. Life in college is so dreadfully mundane. It's a series of routines and boring school things. Ugh. I'll find something interesting to blog about for next time. But for now I must go. I have class at 6.

My Badass Memoir? If You've Got to Write, Write Cocky

 

And that is how you make your own pretentious book cover! I actually turned that in as the cover of a 40 page memoir piece that I wrote for my Extended Narrative class last spring. That piece was surprisingly received quite well and, more importantly than that, was one of the most exhilarating and enjoyable writing experiences of my life. I mean, come on. I'm writing about the most interesting person I know--Me!

Not only did I write that memoir piece along with this very precocious cover but I also got my start as a writer right here on my Blog. Clearly I just love writing about myself. It's where I have the most experience, the most material, and what interests me most. I guess the reason I most enjoy writing about myself is that I don't understand myself at all. I am the most interesting character to write about merely because I would like to get to know that character.

Due to this insatiable desire to write my own story I have set out upon an ambitious senior writing workshop project: a 200 page memoir that, in my loftiest dreams, I could begin the process of attempting to publish straight out of college. Now, 200 pages may sound a little excessive for one course in one undergraduate semester but, well, I've always cocky. Why stop now? Plus, I mapped it all out. I already have 40 pages (though they are in need of loving revision) and I just need to write 40 pages every 3 weeks and I'll have it done 2 weeks before the end of the semester, the last 2 weeks of which will be spent on revision and polish and saying "OH MY GOD I JUST WROTE A LOT!"

The thing I like about the senior writing workshop is that we're not really being taught anything. Basically we're being told, "we spent 3 and half years teaching you to write--now do it!" We barely talked all of the two hour class today, but I did write 4 pages!This is what I needed. Just a chance to write my own thing. I'm really excited about my results. Just think, you, my loyal reader (I'm sure someone is there, otherwise who am I talking to? Myself?) could someday say you were reading the writings of the famous Chris Clark before he was even famous!