I'm starting to equate school with childbirth, and it totally makes sense. Before the semester starts, I'm all eager and thinking how great it's going to be. Yes, there is the potential for disaster, but I won't think about it right now; it doesn't apply to me. During the semester, my level of discomfort increases steadily, but I can still handle it. When it comes time to labor over exams and papers, I think, "God! How did I ever think I could do this? I'll never make it! I am never doing this again!" Then I get my (mostly good) grades back, and I have totally forgotten about all the aggravation and hard work until the next time.
The summer semester starts in a week-and-a-half, and I have to read 3 novels before then. A professor kindly let me into his already-full class, and now I have to be sure to be thoroughly prepared to repay him. I started Don DeLillo's Underworld right after buying it this morning, and all I have to say is that I hope the other 810 pages are not a lot of literary wanking about baseball.
That is all.
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