Today is Monday,
September 22, 2014. I promised myself this year would be different. Just as I
have told myself since 2008, I would start this year head-first, go hard, make
friends, do my homework, make music, create art, and excel at all of it. Two
weeks later, the reality of my nature has been revealed to me once again. So
far I’ve missed two classes in this course alone, for fear of showing up late.
Starting today, that all ends, and I mean it. I’m going to be prepared for each
class a day in advance by doing the required readings and exercises posted in
the outlines of each course. All of them are English courses, so it would also
be in my best interest to practice writing too.
I chose this. I knew that the
English Language would eventually consume me. I can’t just enter into this
career for the income and paid summer holidays. I need to know this job inside
and out, because otherwise I fear when I apply for a job, I will be dismissed
as a straggler who half-asses everything. If I’m going to be the best, I have
to start acting like the best.
I need to re-read the outline,
because I don’t even really understand the purpose of this class, other than to
“study” Old and Middle English literature, neither of which have I any real
interest in reading. What is the purpose of studying literature, anyway? Is it
our way of trying to figure out the best way to live, to understand what is
good and bad about societies, and how to learn from history’s mistakes? Reading
a book could be merely an act of escapism, but to actually start dissecting the
words of the author must serve some purpose, as was there a purpose in those
words being used. Like certain sounds make me feel certain emotions, certain
words also serve to understand people, places, things, if only I paid more
attention to them, I would be able to thrive in the world around me.
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