It's been awhile since I was unable to sleep due to ear-ringing and adrenaline-rush. That's right--tonight I attended my first show in quite some time, and it was quite enjoyable. First of all, the lighting was excellent. Unfortunately, my spot at the very front had some downsides; namely being in between speakers prevented me from hearing some stuff, particularly during Idiot Pilot's set.
Sugar Sugar Sugar was the opening band, and at the first few chords and drum-hits, I wasn't very impressed; sounded like a typical pseudo-"classic-rock" band. Then the vocals came in... and it was not at all what I expected. No Brian Johnson or Bon Scott or Robert Plant or Mick Jagger impressions; more of a Prince impression than anything. As the set went on, I took them for what they were; a pretty damn entertaining local rock band. Good set.
Next was Rooftops. The first time I saw them, they were "the Acoustops" opening for Pan Pan (or was it the other way around? Can't remember) in the Underground Coffeehouse. Electric instruments definitely suit them better. Super-mathy virtuosic guitar pop is the best way to describe them. Sarah Jerns of Pan Pan joined them on flugelhorn/trumpet on a couple tunes, which was quite the nice addition. IMO, they're just a taaaad too noodly, but overall I enjoyed it.
Next was Yogoman Burning Band, the very fun ska/reggae/dub/whatever band that tried to make me dance when I wanted to stand and enjoy the music. I don't have anything against people who want to dance (until they started dry-humping in front of me, or when bro Sublime-fans start ramming into me), but it irritates me when a band says (this is almost actually a direct quote) "If you're not dancing, you should be." NOPE. Regardless, their music was very nice, tight, fun, and groovy. I liked it.
Next up was Idiot Pilot. Fortunately for people like me but unfortunately for the ego of the closing band, a bunch of people left before they went on. They totally rocked it, though. Only three songs from their [superior, IMO] debut album, "Strange We Should Meet Here," but they were good ones ("A Day in the Life of a Poolshark," eponymous track, and set-closer "To Buy a Gun"). Lots of jumping, thrashing, screaming, belting, electro clicks, and just energy in general. Very glad I finally got to see them live.
On the way home, the bus was totally full of possibly drunk college students doing their Friday night thing, and then on Ferry Ave I saw a couple of deer. I'm going to bed now. Good night!
--Jon
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Teen Pregnancy Welfare Dilemma
Some quick and probably rather uneducated thoughts about welfare:
I understand where angry conservatives are coming from when they bash on welfare. They don't want their tax dollars going to someone who doesn't learn from their mistakes, who takes it, makes more mistakes, and then takes more money. It's understandable. They don't want their money going to teenagers who were "stupid" enough to have sex unprotected, and then got pregnant.
Okay, fair enough. Teens shouldn't be monetarily rewarded for getting pregnant in high school. It's their own fault, etc. What these people never seem to think about, however, are the children of these kids. We focus so much on "teen moms" (hell, apparently there's a reality show called "Teen Moms") that we forget about the ones that matter and that suffer the most; their children. These kids will quite often grow up in an incredibly negative environment, with parents that don't know how to be parents, that don't have enough money to buy them the essentials, that use the money they do have irresponsibly [I know, this isn't how every teen parent does things]. As a result, by the time they get into school, they haven't developed adequately to the point that they are ready to learn, and then they get held back, and then they don't get enough help with homework, and then they end up just like their parents did. And then, lo and behold, 16 years later, they get pregnant. Just like their parents.
Does welfare help this problem? Sometimes, probably. But also often not, I'm guessing. I don't have the statistics. Maybe Elie will? In any case, here's my question: how do we protect and make a better life for these kids before it's too late for them?
--Jon
I understand where angry conservatives are coming from when they bash on welfare. They don't want their tax dollars going to someone who doesn't learn from their mistakes, who takes it, makes more mistakes, and then takes more money. It's understandable. They don't want their money going to teenagers who were "stupid" enough to have sex unprotected, and then got pregnant.
Okay, fair enough. Teens shouldn't be monetarily rewarded for getting pregnant in high school. It's their own fault, etc. What these people never seem to think about, however, are the children of these kids. We focus so much on "teen moms" (hell, apparently there's a reality show called "Teen Moms") that we forget about the ones that matter and that suffer the most; their children. These kids will quite often grow up in an incredibly negative environment, with parents that don't know how to be parents, that don't have enough money to buy them the essentials, that use the money they do have irresponsibly [I know, this isn't how every teen parent does things]. As a result, by the time they get into school, they haven't developed adequately to the point that they are ready to learn, and then they get held back, and then they don't get enough help with homework, and then they end up just like their parents did. And then, lo and behold, 16 years later, they get pregnant. Just like their parents.
Does welfare help this problem? Sometimes, probably. But also often not, I'm guessing. I don't have the statistics. Maybe Elie will? In any case, here's my question: how do we protect and make a better life for these kids before it's too late for them?
--Jon
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
I Think Life is Trying to Tell me Something
The blog I wrote a few weeks ago, right as school was about to start, was all about how I was stressed. Let's see. I was stressed about being too busy, stressed about getting to see my 5th graders, stressed about getting good band music and not being demoted, stressed about my sink breaking, etc.
I wasn't too busy. In fact, I'm not nearly as panicked as I was last quarter. The irony is that I'm taking 20 credits now whereas, last quarter, I only took 13 credits without being in Whatcom Wind Ensemble.
I got to see my 5th graders. For about 3 days I was nearly in tears all day because I thought I wouldn't get to go back to see them and I was incredibly frustrated because of that. But it all worked out.
I got fabulous pieces in band. In fact, I got solo clarinet on the best piece we're playing. So not only was I not demoted, but I was promoted to basically being the number one clarinetist for at least that one song. My ego grew like 15 times what it was before...
And then I started to stress about whether I could actually play my solos, either because I suck at reading music or because I would get nervous and mess up - or both. But, the one time I got the opportunity to play the solos, I did it well, and now I'm more excited than nervous. Again, worried for nothing. And I'm practically the solo clarinetist on half the music we're playing in Whatcom Wind Ensemble simply because I'm on the of the only clarinetists period, and it's not freaking me out!
Before all this stuff happened, my sink leaked a whole bunch on my birthday. I thought I would have to move to another apartment, would be fined for water damage, have horrible mold everywhere, have the landlord mad at me, and have my roommate mad at me. But everything was fixed and nothing was pinned on me.
For everything that I've been really stressed about, I've realized that I stressed for nothing. This happens over and over. I think that fate is creating these stressful situation to prove to me that there is nothing to worry about. But does this help my stress level? No. I keep thinking that luck has been on my side all these times that it's going to work against me soon. But that's illogical. I even considered going to the WWU counseling center for free counseling for this lovely stress and anxiety of mine, but I just want to be able to pop a few pills (this coming from someone who hates taking drugs of all kinds, be it vitamins or advil) to make me calm. But then that would cost money and would probably be the less-healthy route. Something needs to change, though, and I don't know how to make it happen. *sigh*
-Elie
I wasn't too busy. In fact, I'm not nearly as panicked as I was last quarter. The irony is that I'm taking 20 credits now whereas, last quarter, I only took 13 credits without being in Whatcom Wind Ensemble.
I got to see my 5th graders. For about 3 days I was nearly in tears all day because I thought I wouldn't get to go back to see them and I was incredibly frustrated because of that. But it all worked out.
I got fabulous pieces in band. In fact, I got solo clarinet on the best piece we're playing. So not only was I not demoted, but I was promoted to basically being the number one clarinetist for at least that one song. My ego grew like 15 times what it was before...
And then I started to stress about whether I could actually play my solos, either because I suck at reading music or because I would get nervous and mess up - or both. But, the one time I got the opportunity to play the solos, I did it well, and now I'm more excited than nervous. Again, worried for nothing. And I'm practically the solo clarinetist on half the music we're playing in Whatcom Wind Ensemble simply because I'm on the of the only clarinetists period, and it's not freaking me out!
Before all this stuff happened, my sink leaked a whole bunch on my birthday. I thought I would have to move to another apartment, would be fined for water damage, have horrible mold everywhere, have the landlord mad at me, and have my roommate mad at me. But everything was fixed and nothing was pinned on me.
For everything that I've been really stressed about, I've realized that I stressed for nothing. This happens over and over. I think that fate is creating these stressful situation to prove to me that there is nothing to worry about. But does this help my stress level? No. I keep thinking that luck has been on my side all these times that it's going to work against me soon. But that's illogical. I even considered going to the WWU counseling center for free counseling for this lovely stress and anxiety of mine, but I just want to be able to pop a few pills (this coming from someone who hates taking drugs of all kinds, be it vitamins or advil) to make me calm. But then that would cost money and would probably be the less-healthy route. Something needs to change, though, and I don't know how to make it happen. *sigh*
-Elie
Of Fish and Men
As I've been telling everybody who comes within earshot of me, I recently bought a Betta fish. Since I've always grown up with animals (cats, dogs, fish, a parakeet), I felt a void in my life when I moved away from my home in McCleary because I didn't have any pets besides spider plants.
So I finally went out and bought a fish. I know that he's just a fish, but I love Frederick (my fish). Having a living, moving creature changes the whole mood of my room. Even though he's terribly distracting, watching him makes me calmer, aside from the fact that I'm terrified that he'll suddenly die out of nowhere. That fear was caused by my killing my roommate's fish - on accident!
As I watch Frederick, I wonder about the ethics of keeping fish. Wouldn't all fish be happier living in the ocean or lakes or whatever they're from? Do they mind being kept in small bowls? I'd imagine that they'd prefer larger spaces in which to swim, which is why I bought a fairly large, half-gallon bowl. But is he happy? Is it cruel to keep fish as pets? It's not like we provide joy for them as humans can for cats and dogs. Or are fishes' brains too minute to comprehend happiness?
-Elie
So I finally went out and bought a fish. I know that he's just a fish, but I love Frederick (my fish). Having a living, moving creature changes the whole mood of my room. Even though he's terribly distracting, watching him makes me calmer, aside from the fact that I'm terrified that he'll suddenly die out of nowhere. That fear was caused by my killing my roommate's fish - on accident!
As I watch Frederick, I wonder about the ethics of keeping fish. Wouldn't all fish be happier living in the ocean or lakes or whatever they're from? Do they mind being kept in small bowls? I'd imagine that they'd prefer larger spaces in which to swim, which is why I bought a fairly large, half-gallon bowl. But is he happy? Is it cruel to keep fish as pets? It's not like we provide joy for them as humans can for cats and dogs. Or are fishes' brains too minute to comprehend happiness?
-Elie
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Here's a quote that I don't like
"Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life."
-G. Bernard Shaw
This is contrary to all the arguments FOR alcohol that I've heard. It basically reinforces my main criticism of it; people drink because they don't appreciate life just for what it is substance-free. I'd love to be convinced otherwise. But my experiences around people drinking have been less than fantastic thus far in my life.Maybe I should put it this way; if you're drinking for reasons that align you with this quote, then you are drinking for the wrong reasons.
--Jon
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Musically Disadvantaged
Be warned; this is going to be rather stream-of-conscious-esque.
I didn't grow up in a wealthy family. We were the epitome of "lower middle class." My dad jumped from job to job with his worker's union, and my mom worked at a local grocery store. We lived comfortably, but I didn't have a lot of the fancy gadgets that others had. On top of it all, we kind of lived in the middle of nowhere, in a small town with small schools, and hence not a totally prestigious music program (although, I have to say, Mr. Fosket has done wonders with what we did have). The nearest decently-sized city was a good hour away from where we lived. Two-hour round trip. We had a small house; a drum-set would have been out of the question in that place, as there would be nowhere to put it, let alone play it without driving my parents insane. My family wasn't a musical family. My sister, seven grades above me, went through the public music program that started at grade 6. She was the first in our family to play any instrument. We never had private lessons; we couldn't afford it, and there weren't many teachers in our area in the first place. I've seen pictures of now-amazing musicians when they were kids. Some of them, even as toddlers, had a mini drumset they played, or a toy keyboard. They had lessons starting at age 5. I didn't have any of that stuff. I didn't play music, aside from my tinkering on elementary school instruments, until 6th grade.
I remember one time in elementary school, there was some sort of culture assembly where some classical musicians came and played for us and talked to us about music. It totally enthralled me. I wanted to do what they did so badly (although at this point I was also totally enthralled by the motivational yoyoist that talked to us, too). In our music classes, I totally hated singing and dancing... but boy, when we took out this little tinker-toy mallet instruments and toy drums... I was in heaven. In fifth grade, I took a little evaluation to figure out what instrument I should play. I was a master of rhythm with those drumsticks. In sixth grade, I would be a percussionist.
And that happened. But my middle school band teacher wasn't the finest. He wasn't meant for the job he had. And something tells me he didn't give a rat's ass about what was going on way back in the percussion section in the back of the room. I took drums seriously. Very few others in that classroom did. I didn't have any professional lessons. Once or twice the local drum instructor came in and taught us "a thing or two." He wasn't meant for his job either. But he was what the area had. I essentially had to teach myself everything. One big thing did happen in middle school though (or, rather, didn't happen); I never actually really learned to read music. Sure I got the same basic instruction as everyone at the beginning. But as soon as he could, he threw me on timpani. There went my reading skills; right down the tube. To this day, I still have a very hard time reading music. I feel like if I had gotten some more decent training early on in my music career, I wouldn't be so disadvantaged now.
Fast-forward to high school. Bottom of the barrel. I barely knew how to play my instrument. A lot of others didn't, either. But by now those were the ones that were in this class because they knew it was an easy A, not because they wanted their lives enriched by music, or because they wanted to become better musicians, or even better drummers... they just wanted to hit shit and get an A for it. I could read music better than a lot of people there... but that wasn't saying much. To those who wanted to learn and needed to learn, Mr. Fosket taught. And I took in everything I could. But Mr. Fosket wasn't a percussionist, so he couldn't teach private lessons in them. At this point I didn't know what I wanted to do with music, and by this point I had started to play guitar, so that was more of a focus for me; percussion was just what I did with school. I had a solid sense of rhythm, but I never really got the chance to truly show what I was made of. I got a pretty good part in most ensemble pieces, including one of four "lead" parts in a piece that got us 2nd in the state solo/ensemble competition... but any mallet parts I ever had were essentially memorized. Rhythms were fantastic. Anything melodic or harmonic... I could not sight-read. Sophomore year I tried playing a mallet duet... and failed. Badly. Any musical dreams I had at that point were crushed. I figured I might as well do math. I was pretty good at that. While this wasn't really a turning point at all, my self-esteem hadn't really improved much.
Fast-forward to my senior year of high school. I'm more more self-motivated and independent than ever before. I've been on the sidelines in the band for three years, and I'm ready to prove what I'm capable of. I dug through Mr. Fosket's catalogs of percussion solos and found a short and pretty cool and easy one for the regional solo/ensemble competition. I practiced hard during band (and once or twice after school, as well as reading it to myself at home) for a couple of weeks. I won the spot to State, but much to my dismay, I'd need a new (and harder) piece of I really wanted to compete. Mr. Fosket, not always being one for personal motivational speaches, gave me subtle but effective encouragement. As did my mother. I went through some online samples of multi-percussion solos, and one in particular really caught my ear... but it sounded impossibly difficult. How could anyone possibly play that?! Absolutely insane. I'll find something easier. ...But I slowly got to thinking "...No, I can do this. If I put my mind to it, and work really, really hard, I can do it." So I got the score, and slowly picked away at it. I dug through the back of the band room, through piles of old equipment, looking for the right instruments that I would need for the solo, assembling it almost every day and practicing it after school when I didn't work. I played it on my lap for hours at home. I worked very, very hard, and with that piece, I got a $2000 scholarship and 2nd in the state. I finally had something for which to be truly proud of myself.
Fast-forward to college. Bottom of the barrel yet again. I realize that my musical skills are pretty lackluster. I'm worlds behind other entering freshmen. Sure, when it comes down to theory and weird rhythms and subtle things like that, sometimes I've got the edge. But essentially, when playing anything... bottom of the barrel. But I'm working hard on improving. I'm finally getting private lessons, and for one quarter I even got them from a fellow student, since I was so desperate for help, and this was truly what I wanted to do. It took me a year to muster up the courage and skills to actually audition for the band program... and from what it sounds like, I definitely needed that extra year. I almost gave up on music. But now, here I am. I'm finally a bit secure, now that I'm here in the band program.
But now I'm reading a book for my first music education class. It describes five kinds of musicians that become music teachers, and the professor, Stambaugh, added an extra one in class. We're supposed to pick one of these stories with which we most fit into. After listening to all of them, I realized that I didn't fit into any of them, because every single one of them received private lessons at a young age, came from a musical family, lived in a big city with a completely astounding music program, came into college as one of the best in their freshman class... all things that I never had. It's times like these that I realize that, yes, I was musically disadvantaged. But that didn't stop me in middle school. Or early high school. Or my senior year of high school. Or last year. And it won't stop me now.
--Jon
I didn't grow up in a wealthy family. We were the epitome of "lower middle class." My dad jumped from job to job with his worker's union, and my mom worked at a local grocery store. We lived comfortably, but I didn't have a lot of the fancy gadgets that others had. On top of it all, we kind of lived in the middle of nowhere, in a small town with small schools, and hence not a totally prestigious music program (although, I have to say, Mr. Fosket has done wonders with what we did have). The nearest decently-sized city was a good hour away from where we lived. Two-hour round trip. We had a small house; a drum-set would have been out of the question in that place, as there would be nowhere to put it, let alone play it without driving my parents insane. My family wasn't a musical family. My sister, seven grades above me, went through the public music program that started at grade 6. She was the first in our family to play any instrument. We never had private lessons; we couldn't afford it, and there weren't many teachers in our area in the first place. I've seen pictures of now-amazing musicians when they were kids. Some of them, even as toddlers, had a mini drumset they played, or a toy keyboard. They had lessons starting at age 5. I didn't have any of that stuff. I didn't play music, aside from my tinkering on elementary school instruments, until 6th grade.
I remember one time in elementary school, there was some sort of culture assembly where some classical musicians came and played for us and talked to us about music. It totally enthralled me. I wanted to do what they did so badly (although at this point I was also totally enthralled by the motivational yoyoist that talked to us, too). In our music classes, I totally hated singing and dancing... but boy, when we took out this little tinker-toy mallet instruments and toy drums... I was in heaven. In fifth grade, I took a little evaluation to figure out what instrument I should play. I was a master of rhythm with those drumsticks. In sixth grade, I would be a percussionist.
And that happened. But my middle school band teacher wasn't the finest. He wasn't meant for the job he had. And something tells me he didn't give a rat's ass about what was going on way back in the percussion section in the back of the room. I took drums seriously. Very few others in that classroom did. I didn't have any professional lessons. Once or twice the local drum instructor came in and taught us "a thing or two." He wasn't meant for his job either. But he was what the area had. I essentially had to teach myself everything. One big thing did happen in middle school though (or, rather, didn't happen); I never actually really learned to read music. Sure I got the same basic instruction as everyone at the beginning. But as soon as he could, he threw me on timpani. There went my reading skills; right down the tube. To this day, I still have a very hard time reading music. I feel like if I had gotten some more decent training early on in my music career, I wouldn't be so disadvantaged now.
Fast-forward to high school. Bottom of the barrel. I barely knew how to play my instrument. A lot of others didn't, either. But by now those were the ones that were in this class because they knew it was an easy A, not because they wanted their lives enriched by music, or because they wanted to become better musicians, or even better drummers... they just wanted to hit shit and get an A for it. I could read music better than a lot of people there... but that wasn't saying much. To those who wanted to learn and needed to learn, Mr. Fosket taught. And I took in everything I could. But Mr. Fosket wasn't a percussionist, so he couldn't teach private lessons in them. At this point I didn't know what I wanted to do with music, and by this point I had started to play guitar, so that was more of a focus for me; percussion was just what I did with school. I had a solid sense of rhythm, but I never really got the chance to truly show what I was made of. I got a pretty good part in most ensemble pieces, including one of four "lead" parts in a piece that got us 2nd in the state solo/ensemble competition... but any mallet parts I ever had were essentially memorized. Rhythms were fantastic. Anything melodic or harmonic... I could not sight-read. Sophomore year I tried playing a mallet duet... and failed. Badly. Any musical dreams I had at that point were crushed. I figured I might as well do math. I was pretty good at that. While this wasn't really a turning point at all, my self-esteem hadn't really improved much.
Fast-forward to my senior year of high school. I'm more more self-motivated and independent than ever before. I've been on the sidelines in the band for three years, and I'm ready to prove what I'm capable of. I dug through Mr. Fosket's catalogs of percussion solos and found a short and pretty cool and easy one for the regional solo/ensemble competition. I practiced hard during band (and once or twice after school, as well as reading it to myself at home) for a couple of weeks. I won the spot to State, but much to my dismay, I'd need a new (and harder) piece of I really wanted to compete. Mr. Fosket, not always being one for personal motivational speaches, gave me subtle but effective encouragement. As did my mother. I went through some online samples of multi-percussion solos, and one in particular really caught my ear... but it sounded impossibly difficult. How could anyone possibly play that?! Absolutely insane. I'll find something easier. ...But I slowly got to thinking "...No, I can do this. If I put my mind to it, and work really, really hard, I can do it." So I got the score, and slowly picked away at it. I dug through the back of the band room, through piles of old equipment, looking for the right instruments that I would need for the solo, assembling it almost every day and practicing it after school when I didn't work. I played it on my lap for hours at home. I worked very, very hard, and with that piece, I got a $2000 scholarship and 2nd in the state. I finally had something for which to be truly proud of myself.
Fast-forward to college. Bottom of the barrel yet again. I realize that my musical skills are pretty lackluster. I'm worlds behind other entering freshmen. Sure, when it comes down to theory and weird rhythms and subtle things like that, sometimes I've got the edge. But essentially, when playing anything... bottom of the barrel. But I'm working hard on improving. I'm finally getting private lessons, and for one quarter I even got them from a fellow student, since I was so desperate for help, and this was truly what I wanted to do. It took me a year to muster up the courage and skills to actually audition for the band program... and from what it sounds like, I definitely needed that extra year. I almost gave up on music. But now, here I am. I'm finally a bit secure, now that I'm here in the band program.
But now I'm reading a book for my first music education class. It describes five kinds of musicians that become music teachers, and the professor, Stambaugh, added an extra one in class. We're supposed to pick one of these stories with which we most fit into. After listening to all of them, I realized that I didn't fit into any of them, because every single one of them received private lessons at a young age, came from a musical family, lived in a big city with a completely astounding music program, came into college as one of the best in their freshman class... all things that I never had. It's times like these that I realize that, yes, I was musically disadvantaged. But that didn't stop me in middle school. Or early high school. Or my senior year of high school. Or last year. And it won't stop me now.
--Jon
Monday, January 4, 2010
Bellingham is A-Buzzing
And thus begins a new chapter in our lives. A new year. A new quarter. A new...hair cut?
I actually have a resolution for the new year. Well, I guess it wasn't for the new year, but it began around the new year. I mentioned in my previous blog that my pants fit, which is a bad thing. Since coming back to Bellingham, I've taken up jogging, and I love it. In addition to making my legs really sore, I already feel a difference. And being healthy is good. But no, I refuse to drink milk. Don't even ask.
A while back, right before summer ended, I wrote about not stressing any more. I said something awfully catchy like, "it's time to stop stressing and start living." Well, that didn't work out very well, unfortunately. I considered trying to try that resolution again, but I know I can't do it. It's like quitting smoking cold turkey. I can't quit stressing just like that. But I need to do something. Here I am, one day before school starts, and I've given myself a headache due to stress. And classes haven't even started yet! I keep telling myself that it'll be fine, but it doesn't do a whole lot. I keep thinking, what if I can't handle all my classes? What if I have major time conflicts with my clubs and potentially future job? What if I suck at archaeology or any of my other classes?
My mind goes back to last quarter when I freaked out about my evil, evil history and anthropology classes. But guess what. I got A- in both of those classes. It's like Western is trying to tell me to shut up about stressing because I'll be fine. Why can't I listen to reason?!
Well, reason is also telling me that I may have committed to too much: 20 credits of coursework, 3 clubs, pep band, and 2 jobs. But if I didn't do so much, I'd think I was slacking compared to everybody else, which would also make me stress. I feel like I need to do something extraordinary, so I overwhelm myself with classes and extra-curriculars.
Elie. Shut up and stop worrying. It'll be fine. Sincerely,
Elie
I actually have a resolution for the new year. Well, I guess it wasn't for the new year, but it began around the new year. I mentioned in my previous blog that my pants fit, which is a bad thing. Since coming back to Bellingham, I've taken up jogging, and I love it. In addition to making my legs really sore, I already feel a difference. And being healthy is good. But no, I refuse to drink milk. Don't even ask.
A while back, right before summer ended, I wrote about not stressing any more. I said something awfully catchy like, "it's time to stop stressing and start living." Well, that didn't work out very well, unfortunately. I considered trying to try that resolution again, but I know I can't do it. It's like quitting smoking cold turkey. I can't quit stressing just like that. But I need to do something. Here I am, one day before school starts, and I've given myself a headache due to stress. And classes haven't even started yet! I keep telling myself that it'll be fine, but it doesn't do a whole lot. I keep thinking, what if I can't handle all my classes? What if I have major time conflicts with my clubs and potentially future job? What if I suck at archaeology or any of my other classes?
My mind goes back to last quarter when I freaked out about my evil, evil history and anthropology classes. But guess what. I got A- in both of those classes. It's like Western is trying to tell me to shut up about stressing because I'll be fine. Why can't I listen to reason?!
Well, reason is also telling me that I may have committed to too much: 20 credits of coursework, 3 clubs, pep band, and 2 jobs. But if I didn't do so much, I'd think I was slacking compared to everybody else, which would also make me stress. I feel like I need to do something extraordinary, so I overwhelm myself with classes and extra-curriculars.
Elie. Shut up and stop worrying. It'll be fine. Sincerely,
Elie
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