Anti-Climax with a Side of Struggle

My father has a saying he absolutely adores, as he does all his sayings. Having grown up with these words of wisdom floating around in my head it's amazing how even a mention of one of them will set me off laughing and cringing and wildly turning my head around to see if my older brother is here, listening to this, or if my father is somewhere holding a camera. I have to say, I haven't caught either of them lurking around yet, but that doesn't mean they aren't there...Anyway, my father always says "finish the job", whether referring to a legal brief, a meal or any other task. It's not perhaps the most loquacious or elegant of phrases, but it haunts me, I swear it does. As I was wandering around the not-Yale Art and Architecture Library, were I work, and by work I mean avoid working at all costs even if that means hiding from my supervisors for three full hours, I ran into my delightful friend Charles, who has become famous here at not-Yale both for his charming personality and his glorious, leonine hair. While Charles usually exudes a debonair quality I admire and a care-free attitude I can't help but envy, on this occasion I must say he looked a little, well, shall we say, peaked. He had that look in his eyes that wild animals have when they first are brought into a zoo, that sort of "oh Jesus get me out of here I will tear this place to BITS" kind of a thing going on. Charles, I whispered, what's going on? Charles looked at me, eyes wide with whatever plateau you reach after abject terror, and said, I'm trying to write this paper. It was due last Monday. And I haven't written any of it. I could only think of one way to respond to this. What did I say? Have you seen the title of this blog? STRUGGLE.

Now, I happen to know that Charles is one of those remarkably insanely brilliant young men who is going to, in the next 48 hours, write an award winning essay and all will be forgiven. Nevertheless, it amazes me that I meet these people here at not-Yale who are so deeply smart and yet give new meaning to the term eleventh hour. Or, I suppose, in Charles' case, whatever a week past the eleventh hour is. Me, I don't play that. I am, in fact, the girl who turned in her last paper of he college career this morning, despite it's actually due date being the twelfth. Yeah, I'm that person. The one you want to shoot. But, in my defense, this isn't because I WANT to be this girl, it's because I HAVE to be. I have, what we in the Judaism business would call, a compulsion. I am not a last minute person, I am a week before person, because if I don't write the paper or prepare the presentation or study for the test way before any self respecting college student would I would be a crumbling mess of struggle blubbering and stress eating like it's my job. I have been drilled by my father, and I always finish the job.

Of course, this means that I am now stuck in not-New Haven with nothing to do for the next several days. Charles may have a point.

Song that makes the day seem better? Eric Hutchinson's Rock and Roll. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4h4YrBBuer8