As someone who is always in some degree of panic, I cannot express how much Winter Term means to me. Winter Term is quiet. College, like your Aunt Tammy’s personality, can only be described as much a lot; people are always expecting things from you, there’s shouting, and more often than not you’re crying. Winter Term is a break in the song, the instrumental jazz bridge before the swinging upbeat of the final refrain.
…we’ll conjure for a storm”…of singing! Winter term is often a time of relaxing and low stress – with only one class, you can take it easy. Alas, this was not to be for me this winter term. I am taking 4 classes, with a total of 5 credits. Two of those classes are Chamber Singers and Chorale (the two choirs I’m in), which both rehearse for two hours every day. Then, in the fall, I auditioned for C of I’s opera this year – Dido and Aeneas. I was thrilled to get the part of Second Witch.
It’s a name that brings people to all sorts of memory. From the well-known Ziggy Stardust to the more obscure Thin White Duke, Bowie has always been beyond this fickle Earth in his character and manner. Visionary is a word that is often misused, but Bowie had a vision that he could only express to us, never explain. That said, I am by no means a devout Bowian. His passing has, however, been directly connected to the mood of winter so far.
When I volunteered for the Thespian Freeze Out it was under the sincere impression that I wasn’t going to be going into the dunk tank. There were lots of people volunteering, and way better targets than me. I had no enemies that I knew of, and most of my friends were broke. What did I have to fear?
Chanse Ward and Eric Wakeman apparently, who, in an act of betrayal the likes of which I have never known, conspired against me to place more money in my jar than had any business being there.
Who’s ready for good ol’ fashioned PSA, courtesy of Winter Break?
Game of Thrones tried to warn us. The delightfully macabre catchphrase of the show’s protagonist family, “Winter is coming”, is one that is meant to be taken as a warning— a reminder for constant vigilance because your enemies are around the corner. Out in the real world, winter is already here and instead of the beheaded patriarchs and medieval sass of Game of Thrones, our winter is a much craftier, silent enemy. It’s also a hell of a lot sadder.
In between shoveling plates full of homemade food into my mouth, I was totally holding my breath waiting for grades to come out. It’s like for five minutes you’re just purely grateful that finals are over and you can sleep for a solid nine hours without waking up in a pool of your own sweat while your subconscious screams at you for letting Dr. Mansfield down with your uselessness. That moment after you turn in the last final is literally nothing but pure exultation, as the hell you have been living in is finally at an end.
I am writing to you now at the end of battle before a final, decisive moment in my academia comes to pass. The war has been fought thoroughly with few casualties, but there are losses and gains that will be remembered for years to come. I bravely stepped into Dr. Kim's arena to fight my best, but was met with significant defeat that still stings. Yet, my close reading of "The Waste Land" stands as an astonishing breath of potential success. The final to match it, for Dr. Knickerbocker's closely reading poems course, was one that I feel great confidence about.