The life and times of a normal university student

20 May 2010

Twenty Ninth Post

Hey, y'all.
It's my summer! Has been for a week now, but that's not the point. You thought you were getting up-to-date, first-glimpse news? Well, think again.
Anyhow, it's summer.
Yep.
I'm mostly sitting around my house waiting for my job to start.
And... Yeah.
Don't expect much.

12 May 2010

Twenty Eighth Post

Ahoy!
I did not get enough sleep last night. It was a long night.
I am not really that coherent, but "eighth" is a really weird word.
Also, hypogynous flowers have the petals below the ovary. Epigynous flowers have the petals above. Perigynous means the petals are around the middle of the ovary.
I have random shoots of knowledge in my head now. I remember bits and pieces of everything, but not really enough to say I have a good grasp on anything.
I got to do calculus yesterday- well, today, but before I slept- because my friend couldn't do it and asked me for help. I miss calculus.
This, see, is how boring I am. I think calculus is fun. Fun! FUN!
At least I'm better than the kid who hasn't slept in 72 hours. He stole my seat in biology. I was not happy. But he didn't notice my glare since he was trying to stay awake. He "sees" the shadows moving.
I was going to nap after the biology exam, but I wasn't tired anymore... so I'm just going to keep going until my karate final, at which point I will be on such an adrenaline rush that IT WON'T MATTER.
Then I'll be done with class.
Until September.
I'm just going to go hide under my bed now.

04 May 2010

Twenty Seventh Post

I may or may not have mentioned this, but I'm in an english class. It's for a gen-ed that I need to graduate, or I would not be in it. Actually, I'm glad that I am, because I learned that I like science better and that I really don't want to have to deal with the humanities more than I have to.
The class is called "Women Writers". It is taught by a poet (I went to her poetry reading for her new book- she's not bad). Poets- real ones, not "people who have a life and also write some poems"- are not scientists.
I like scientists. I like working through physics problems more than I like dealing with people problems; I prefer mathematical formulas to crowds of people. Biology is my one exception to that, but I'm really more into the cellular and molecular levels. Things that I cannot see with my naked eye but can find scientifically or mathematically...
It's funny, really. I look at the world in a totally new light now, after a year of college. I see the light outside my window- with current I and resistance R- blocking my view of the pine trees- gymnosperms, with three generations in each seed- that sit in the parking lot. I can tell you about the chemical reactions of the batteries in my drawer, and about the effectiveness of the bleach wipes against bacteria. I can move in such a way that, if my hands and feet encountered a person, that person could die. I see all this as a product of the efforts of countless women before me.
I am really not a feminist. The word has extremely negative connotations for me, evoking images of anti-men, bra-burning crazies. I am a very conservative person. I like it when boys open the door for me, and I fully intend to get married someday to a nice man who will safeguard me because that's what men are supposed to do. It's how they're made.
At the same time, I am realising that my being able to go to college and take courses in maths and sciences is the direct result of some crazy women. It's the radicals who make things happen. Were I born in another era, changes would not happen because of me. I have come to respect the radicals, even if I don't agree with their ideas or methods. That's not the point. I have a grudging respect for the fact that because of them, I am able to wear jeans and a t-shirt whenever I want. No skirt if I don't want it. I don't have to take courses that are deemed appropriate for women. I can take any course I want, be anything I want to be when I grow up.
This respect for the radicals is the result of my english class. It's shocking, I know, but the diversity credit really did end up broadening my view of the world.
But now that class is almost over, and all I have to do now is come up with a presentation, write a five-page paper, and read a poem out loud.
There is one thing that I hate more than people, and it's reading my own poems out loud (I am one of those "people who have a life and also write some poems", or would be if I had a life). This may very well be the hardest final of my life.
Okay, so that wasn't a horribly boring post. But my first year of college will be over soon, and I am looking back on it with some nostalgia already.