Anyhoooooo. Today is the first day of scheduled classes in my program. I thought I would be all a flutter about it, and then I realized I don’t HAVE classes on Mondays this term, so there’s another good flutter down the drain. Tomorrow, I guess. Tomorrow it shall begin. Bring on the flutters!
I’m loving all this back to school business. Over the course of my educational life I’ve had a lot of schooly ups and downs, so this kind of positive excitement is nice for me.
I remember being fairly happy in elementary school. I had some anxiety about doing well, and lots of anxiety about my social relationships, but the general pressure to just keep playing sort of drowned a lot of that out.
During what you might call my middle school or jr. high years, things started to go south for me in that I was anxious all the time. I had fractured, odd relationships with girlfriends, and a lot of stress about social minutiae and my appearance which I guess is normal for the average tween girl.
High school was okay in a lot of ways, I’m sure, but the good stuff is hard to remember. Mostly what I remember about high school was how much I hated it. I remember that I made friends with the wrong people and have always sorted of regretted wasting my time with them. With only a couple of exceptions, I hated my classes and hated the work and hated the experience in general, particularly because of the people (mostly, probably, because they didn’t seem to like me very much, which tends to hurt a sensitive girl’s feelings). The angst, man. The angst.
And then I went off to Queen’s and suddenly everything was beautiful. It’s a brainwashing thing, I’m sure. Ask anyone who went to Queen’s what it was like and you’re pretty much guaranteed a rave. A nutty, blinders-on rave. But at the time, that’s just what I needed (for everything to be perfect) so I dove right into the whole crazy, brainwashed Queen’s community and haven’t climbed out since and that was that. Such the best.
So because undergrad was so great, I associate university in general with goodness. UofT, I’m quickly learning, has about as much in common with Queen’s as I do with my betta fish (and Nathan Phillipsquare is a real bitch, lemme tell you), but so what? It’s still university. It’s still lectures and classrooms and the smell of old books. And that’s what I wanted.
The new school year is just so much more profound than the new year year. I mean, have experienced even ONE official New Year’s Eve where you felt the same excitement that you did lying in bed on Labour Day Monday, the night before Grade Five? I doubt it.
The September new year is when I think most people make their real resolutions, their real “this year I’ll be different” promises. The January New Year is like summer school. It’s just a second chance, a first quarter check in, for all those people who didn’t manage to make it happen the first time around.
Sharpening my bouquet of number two pencils,