It's Sunday afternoon. Little wads of storybook clouds are spaced across the sky in a pattern as even as wallpaper. The carpet on my bedroom floor is devoid of small shreds of paper and the tiny bunnies of ochre fluff that come from my ugg boots. Clothing is hung in my (newly rearranged) wardrobe. I have read, sprawled on the floor with my little brother at my side. And so there is enough space now, in the blank patch of this quiet Sunday between the happy nothing busyness of this morning and the soon-coming busyness of early dinner and wearing nice clothes and church, to actually stop and compose some thoughts.
Tomorrow launches the very last week of my very first term of university. I am alive, and I am sane. Proof that I have survived. What's more, although at times I have been very, very nervous and unsure, I have enjoyed it. And yes, I've even learnt stuff (which is kind of what it's all about). I've learnt that:
- when They say a full-time study load is 40 hours, it means 40 hours. Prior to beginning study, I cherished some 'wild, erratic fancies' that I might get through it all quicker. So far, no. But I tell myself this is only the beginning. Surely things can get more streamlined from here, right?
- I never know quite how much contact with the college is too much. Because I'm studying externally, there are no in-the-flesh classes or tutorials when I can bounce ideas off others and ask my lecturer a really quick, inane question. As a result, there are about a million things I'd like to ask which must be reserved for phone calls or emails. Because I don't want to be "that student" who's always bothering the faculty about something, usually I ignore the question and hope it will go away. If it won't, then I email.
- history is delicious and intriguing and hilarious. What started off as a minor is quickly turning into a second major. I am loving the history so much that I'm thinking I'll go ahead and do all the units. It's fantastic and, because it's from a Christian perspective, I'm getting an overview of world history and church history at the same time.
- you can't write the first draft of a poem on the computer. In the last few years my writing life has become largely electronic. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but the keyboard is swifter than the pen. It's made sense for me to do my first drafts, my freelance work, my editing all via a computer. But this term, writing poetry as part of my introduction to creative writing unit, I've found that paper is the only way to go -- at least for poetry. The words just come easier through ink. As a result, that middle-finger writer's bump, which I've had as long as I can remember but which has shrunk in recent years, is back with a vegeance.
I kind of like it.