Whoever said that burials are the consequences of illness,
murder, personal choice and yata-yata-yata, forgot to
mention that books also place a severe threat on the life
of students in todays day and age.
So, in case you were wondering, if you didn't already figure it out; this past week I was buried 3 times. No, they weren't your elaborate funerals with people dressed in black and in tears. The burials didn’t occur on a freshly-cut-green-grassed graveyard nor were they followed by receptions with food and shared memories. Instead, these burials involved caffeinated beverages, pencils, paper, unorganized workspaces, bitten nails, major snackage, headaches and countless “No, I can’t see you tonight but maybe we can take a rain check for like, a year?” Instead, these burials were adorned with Post-it date reminders, page reminders and ‘life’ reminders. Instead of being spruced up and placed in a coffin, I was bejeweled in sweatpants, a hoodie, a headband, smeared make-up and bushwhacked hair (hence the head band). My coffin, two of the three times was replaced by my disheveled excuse of a bed and my unorganized excuse of a desk.
If you haven’t already figured it out, which I hope you would’ve, my burials were ‘thanks’ to school; more specifically, my endless book readings. Yes ladies and gentlemen (no I’m not saying it to make you feel old) this young-ish city girl was buried by her books. Let’s imagine how my obituary would look in the Toronto Star; "Young girl, aged 20 found buried by her books. Suspects include 'An Introduction to Women's Studies' and 'Contentious Politics.' If anyone knows the whereabouts of the suspects, please contact the University bookstore immediately."
cantUnfortunately but devastatingly true, this is only the beginning. I get to look forward to plenty more burials for the next 8 months of my so-called-life. I’m hoping they’ll get a little more elaborate over time in all honesty. If I’m going to go down, I might as well go down with a big bang. Optimists would say that on the plus side (ha!), these are probably going to be the only free burials I’ll have in my life. Though if you consider payment in all its other forms, I’ll soon be broke as I’m losing my stock of sanity, sleep, energy and patience. Hmm; I wonder if those would be considered renewable at this point. I always say that at the end of every semester I’ll gather my books together on the beach and set them on fire at which point, I would do a riveting river dance around their erupting pages. But that alone would require too much energy which they’ve taken from me. The one good thing though would be that since they robbed me of my sanity, a city girl burning her books on the beach wouldn’t look so crazy (right?).
justThe solution to saving my sanity, gaining sleep, and pretty much my life back would probably be ‘trying my best’ and ‘doing one all-nighter that will make me caught up.’ Well I’ve got news for you buddy (and by buddy I mean the one that they call ‘encouragement’) my life does not mirror the movies. Even if my best friend Sally tells me I can do it because she believes in me, I can’t; it is mentally impossible. No, I can’t wish for a fairy godmother, or in this case a fairy bookworm. And no, my brain will not suddenly function better and absorb readings faster if I prayed to the man upstairs and promised to not be a ‘hell-raiser’ (Bart Simpson I am definitely not). And, yet again I have more disappointing news. It is not ‘a hump I’ll eventually get over’, its more like a never ending road with bumps and pot holes, and squirrels—lots of squirrels; little evil ones with huge beastly eyes. I call them professors.
try I am aroused by the assumption that 400 pages a week is doable (and no, sadly that is not a large exaggeration). Now, if I was a retired, people-phobic, extremely nerdy person, then maybe it is. But then I would be the ‘crazy book lady’ on the street. In all non-seriousness though, don’t sue me for saying I like to have a life outside of school that involves less brain ‘stimulation.’ Actually lets change that ‘less’ to ‘fun’. Maybe that’s the remedy to my tragic current ‘life’ story; more fun for the professors. That way they’ll have less time to think about how to take every part of their student’s lives away. So I guess that means that I’ve got to go to the dollar store and buy some tidily-winks and skipping rope and plan ‘meetings’ with my professors. I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy the shit and you buy me some time. Deal?
murder, personal choice and yata-yata-yata, forgot to
mention that books also place a severe threat on the life
of students in todays day and age.
So, in case you were wondering, if you didn't already figure it out; this past week I was buried 3 times. No, they weren't your elaborate funerals with people dressed in black and in tears. The burials didn’t occur on a freshly-cut-green-grassed graveyard nor were they followed by receptions with food and shared memories. Instead, these burials involved caffeinated beverages, pencils, paper, unorganized workspaces, bitten nails, major snackage, headaches and countless “No, I can’t see you tonight but maybe we can take a rain check for like, a year?” Instead, these burials were adorned with Post-it date reminders, page reminders and ‘life’ reminders. Instead of being spruced up and placed in a coffin, I was bejeweled in sweatpants, a hoodie, a headband, smeared make-up and bushwhacked hair (hence the head band). My coffin, two of the three times was replaced by my disheveled excuse of a bed and my unorganized excuse of a desk.
If you haven’t already figured it out, which I hope you would’ve, my burials were ‘thanks’ to school; more specifically, my endless book readings. Yes ladies and gentlemen (no I’m not saying it to make you feel old) this young-ish city girl was buried by her books. Let’s imagine how my obituary would look in the Toronto Star; "Young girl, aged 20 found buried by her books. Suspects include 'An Introduction to Women's Studies' and 'Contentious Politics.' If anyone knows the whereabouts of the suspects, please contact the University bookstore immediately."
cantUnfortunately but devastatingly true, this is only the beginning. I get to look forward to plenty more burials for the next 8 months of my so-called-life. I’m hoping they’ll get a little more elaborate over time in all honesty. If I’m going to go down, I might as well go down with a big bang. Optimists would say that on the plus side (ha!), these are probably going to be the only free burials I’ll have in my life. Though if you consider payment in all its other forms, I’ll soon be broke as I’m losing my stock of sanity, sleep, energy and patience. Hmm; I wonder if those would be considered renewable at this point. I always say that at the end of every semester I’ll gather my books together on the beach and set them on fire at which point, I would do a riveting river dance around their erupting pages. But that alone would require too much energy which they’ve taken from me. The one good thing though would be that since they robbed me of my sanity, a city girl burning her books on the beach wouldn’t look so crazy (right?).
justThe solution to saving my sanity, gaining sleep, and pretty much my life back would probably be ‘trying my best’ and ‘doing one all-nighter that will make me caught up.’ Well I’ve got news for you buddy (and by buddy I mean the one that they call ‘encouragement’) my life does not mirror the movies. Even if my best friend Sally tells me I can do it because she believes in me, I can’t; it is mentally impossible. No, I can’t wish for a fairy godmother, or in this case a fairy bookworm. And no, my brain will not suddenly function better and absorb readings faster if I prayed to the man upstairs and promised to not be a ‘hell-raiser’ (Bart Simpson I am definitely not). And, yet again I have more disappointing news. It is not ‘a hump I’ll eventually get over’, its more like a never ending road with bumps and pot holes, and squirrels—lots of squirrels; little evil ones with huge beastly eyes. I call them professors.
try I am aroused by the assumption that 400 pages a week is doable (and no, sadly that is not a large exaggeration). Now, if I was a retired, people-phobic, extremely nerdy person, then maybe it is. But then I would be the ‘crazy book lady’ on the street. In all non-seriousness though, don’t sue me for saying I like to have a life outside of school that involves less brain ‘stimulation.’ Actually lets change that ‘less’ to ‘fun’. Maybe that’s the remedy to my tragic current ‘life’ story; more fun for the professors. That way they’ll have less time to think about how to take every part of their student’s lives away. So I guess that means that I’ve got to go to the dollar store and buy some tidily-winks and skipping rope and plan ‘meetings’ with my professors. I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy the shit and you buy me some time. Deal?
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