badmoodmo

Always the dreamer... Growing up I harbored a titanic and romaticized notion of what college would someday be like for me.
Smart looking coed's in corduroy jackets and dirty jeans would sip coffee and seriously question their identity - "their existence, damnit" a jaded intellectual in the back of the classroom adds.
Professors were quick speaking, sharp-tongued geniuses whose passionate lectures threatened main stream ideologies with concepts so brilliant - they were considered dangerous.
"College-utopia" as it became in my developing dreams was a place where I would finally be appreciated and admired for speaking my mind, engaging in intellectual pursuits, really appreciated for my creative thinking.
Reality? Yesterday, Dr. Not-to-be-named was 20 minutes late for class. Again. He often has flecks of food in his beard. And if I tried to hold my breath during any of his famous unending pauses, I would undoubtedly pass out long before he caught the next scheduled train of thought. I have two classes with him - three days a week.
Even the classes I really enjoy, like women's studies, are wholly unchallenging. I have been studying feminism for as long as I've been aware I was a woman. Waiting around for my classmates to figure out the fundamentals of feminist thought is as pain staking as waiting for Betty Friedan to return from the grave.
Japan was a great mental vacation because the language/culture hurdles made daily duties like grocery shopping became intense mental tasks. In America however, a box of laundry detergent is far less mysterious... a sentiment that is now pervasive in all of my daily mo-activities.
Wish me luck with waking up each morning, It's hard to leave dream-college at six thirty am and pack my bookbag for smu. (pronounced: smooooooo, for your entertainment)