The semester has finally wrapped up (completely) and I’m proud to say that I’ve come away with a 3.5 for my first semester of grad school. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I’m mostly relieved that I managed to pull an A for Dr. Strieter’s class, since he’s practically the most demanding, hardest prof in the dept. Humphreys can suck my dick. I’m so f’ing glad that I’m done with his class. Now I finally have time to not be crazy, and to catch up on that stack of books that I’ve been putting off since August.
But now the holidays are almost here, and, much like every year, I begin dreading the holiday rush. I love the smell of Christmas (the spicy, warm, cinnamon-y smells that danced around the kitchen when I was a child), but the actual ordeal of families, presents, and food are just tiring to me. I no longer feel the fluttering anticipation that I filled those days before Christmas when I was younger, and the calendar (shaped like a Christmas tree, with a Christmas-y scene on each of the little numbered pouches that are made to hold the little mouse, as he moves day to day, ever closer to the 25th) which used to hang on our wall counting down the days remains hidden in a box. As time goes by, my family (and I) get a little older, and my family members slowly disappear, each Christmas becomes more filled with past memories and less about making them. The family that I have left is not the ideal bunch, and mostly I don’t bond with them because I don’t fit with them. Which leads to the age-old circular argument: Are they worse because I’m different, or have they changed while I stay the same? I can’t help but think that since it is a universal change, that I’m the one that’s different. All in all, that’s okay by me. But it makes me dread the holidays more and more each year.
Here’s hoping that my (and all of your) holidays wrap up better than expected. :)
-kayla
I’m frickin’ proud of you for pulling off such a good semester, I know it had to be hard! I hope get to see you over break, will you be in Paducah?