You can tell when the season has come. The number of people in your morning class with coffee in hand has doubled, if not tripled. Eyes are red, with darker and darker circles underneath. Everyone is wearing sweatpants and pajamas to classes and no one even cares. Yes, it’s easy to tell when Dead Week is upon us and finals approach more quickly than anyone would like to acknowledge. In fact, this past Dead Week, I had to pull an almost-all-nighter to write a paper and stayed up later than I have ever previously had to while doing homework.
The old adage goes “Those who can’t do, teach” which is a subtle, yet beautifully effective backhanded compliment to deliver to someone. I disagree with premise of it, however. I think it’s unfair and it doesn’t make me laugh, which is literally the only qualification I have for whether or not I like something.
I offer, instead, this counterpoint of sage wisdom: “those who are woefully unqualified to do, tutor.”
Now that it’s December, my time abroad is officially waning; I’ll be back in Boise in exactly two months. When I booked my plane tickets back in January, I was under the impression that semesters here run through January. And they do. Kind of.
Well, it’s been a while since I updated ye olde blog! (You can blame my stubbornness in waiting for the best picture to be posted on the P: drive from fall break, as well as my professors for giving me lots of homework). Many exciting things have been happening here at C of I.
Long time, no blog. While last time I was just back from an apple festival and NI mountains, this time I’m just back from Amsterdam and Rome. I did Rome solo, and it was one of the best things I’ve done. I’ve never traveled by myself like that, and it was the ultimate in self-indulgence. All I did was eat gelato, look at art, and walk around. I was worried about losing my passport and being stranded in Italy, but I’m back unscathed.
As (a frankly ridiculous amount of) snow made itself home on campus this last week, havoc was wreaked; havoc on the roadways, havoc on exposed skin, and havoc on my patience as the number of Frozen references I heard per hour skyrocketed to nightmare-levels. The snow refused to stop, chaos marred everything we did and the campus feared this forever winter would be are new home. The women wept, the men wept harder and with more desperate gusto, and the children remained stoic, oddly enough.
For all you college kids reading, there’s sex and drugs and rock and roll, partial nudity of a very scandalous sort, and women behaving badly.
For all you grown ups out there, the show is a provocative think piece on the duality of female relationships and the connection we have with our former selves after the duration of our formative years.
It’s been a busy few days for me. Most of Northern Ireland is accessible by public bus, so I headed out to two different counties this weekend—County Down and County Armagh. County Down found me climbing the tallest peak in Northern Ireland, Slieve Donard, and County Armagh had me eating apple cinnamon scones at the Apple Harvest Fayre.
I’m standing on a stage in Langroise, with my eyes closed, listening to a vibrant red-haired woman do all sorts of amazing things with her voice. And then, with the 20 other people surrounding me, trying to imitate her with varying degrees of success. With everything from Latin vocalizing to something that almost sounds like beatboxing, it’s unlike any choir class that I’ve experienced.