Emerson College is a torture chamber that students enter every September hoping they will come out alive. You may think I am overreacting and that every college is rough, but when looking at a syllibi for a class sends me into a panic attack I know that there is something more going on here.
The first week of college at a normal college is spent looking over the material, discussing what you will do in the class, and possibly writing a paper on who you are and what you want to do with your life. Yesterday was my second day of my first week of school. I already had a story due by Sunday. I was assigned 200 pages of reading, a quiz, 20 pages of boring reading(the professor himself called it boring reading), a definition on cultural identity with a source, and the need to answer a discussion question online yesterday. So if you're keeping track that is story assigned day one and "you can now say goodbye to ever doing anything fun" assigned on day 2.
I am a sort of masochist when it comes to doing homework and doing well in school. If I like the professor, I will be willing to do anything even if it means no life for 6 months. The problem is that my history professor who is the evil man assigning 200 pages of reading and discussion questions to make sure you did the reading, is an insane nut job that is rumored to be on every drug known to man. I am the primary supporter of this rumor, but in all fairness I have heard it from another more reliable source(roommates are reliable right?). This guy stood up in front of the class and spent an hour calling role while cracking jokes about everyone's chosen career path, making sure to add crude comments wherever he felt it was appropriate. I worked in kitchens. I have heard my fair share of what some may determine to be inappropriate, and I can live with it. I don't however pay $40,000 a year to listen to some guy crack bathroom jokes. Just teach me the damn history so I can get the A and move on with my life.
Yes I am ranting. Yes I am bemoaning my fate and wondering what the next few months will bring. For all of you who are terribly upset and wondering what in the world all of this has to do with food, I had a frozen chimichanga for dinner. Why? Did I not have time for dinner? Was I too busy doing homework? This week has broken my spirit. I know that sounds overly dramatic of me, but I could have made time to make dinner and I got all of my homework that needed to be done tonight done. I just really couldn't bring myself to cook and then clean up.
Cooking is something I love to do. It is something that I wish I could do all day, but cooking is work. It is a necessary work, but it is still work. When I'm watching a rerun of Grey's Anatomy and crying in the dark because I haven't had the energy to turn the lights on yet, I know I won't have the energy to cook. I didn't resort to Ramen. I don't know if a frozen chimichanga is a better option, but it at least has something resembling beef in it.
Emerson is a torture chamber that students enter every day of the week. Entering this chamber may mean that I won't be able to have the perfectly clean room that I wanted or the sinkless sink of dishes every night. But tonight I ate something for dinner. It wasn't Ramen. I also got the list of impossibilities done. One day at a time. One day at a time.
Happy Eating!!!
Emily
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