Spent a few hours tonight at a lecture on coloniality and social justice in Latin America, followed by a rousing reception of BBQ and cole slaw. Stopped by Cindy’s place and the conversation kind of turned to school. Everyone seems to be taking Organic Chem II this semester, and I wish I could give them hugs tight enough to help learn MNR, which sounds as fun as pant-lessly riding a splintery branch for a PoGo stick.
I feel really lucky. I love school (this, to anyone following this blog, is likely unsurprising). I take writing-intensive seminars for fun and really, really fucking like them. I’m earning my degree writing papers—happily! enthusiastically!—on Lefebvrean constructions of space in Faulkner with nods to Candido and Mills; contemporary narrative theory and Inter-American comp. lit essays on (my favorite, my girl) Lispector and DFW—the list goes on. I devour the shit assigned to me in class. I love being a student—nerdy, seeking out lectures—and I mean, yes, it’s insulting to say ‘I wish other people had these experiences like I do’ but, well, I do. I wish I cared about my mile time or kicking the habit of biting my nails like I care about drafting the perfect, well-oiled machine of a seminar paper. (Also, I get credit for taking Creative Writing classes?! When the fuck does that happen in real life?)
This is a self-indulgent, stupid post, but whatever. I love school, and want to shout it out all over the Internet. I love academics! Hooray!
