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.