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.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
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.
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.
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