It's Cold Outside, and Dull Inside

I woke up this morning with the intention of going to the University library, to get some work done. It seems as if I cannot concentrate on doing schoolwork when I am at home. I've puzzled over this for some time, because it doesn't really make sense. The only additional element that I have at home is the television. However, it seems to be irresistible. I cannot escape the lure of the TV, even during the dreaded "daytime" programming hours, that consist of soap opera's and various home/fashion/personal interest shows. I guess if it is there, I have to have it on.

So if I were to study at home, I would have to avoid the living room. Okay....that leaves my bedroom. I suppose I would study in my room more often, if my desk were not so atrocious. I hate to use it, because it's a rather cheap item I picked up from Staples. In retrospect, it was a bad purchase, since it's not the right height for me, and hence is very uncomfortable to use for more than five minutes. That means I usually end up trying to do work on my bed (with my laptop, of course), which almost always ends up in my falling asleep. Obviously. Beds are not meant for homeworking - in fact, I would argue that beds are good for two things ONLY (which I don't need to go into detail about, since I'm sure everyone knows what two activities I am referring to).

Clearly, since I cannot resist my television, and since my bed is entirely too comfortable, the library is the only place for me (in my studious moods, that is). So I packed my laptop, a few books, pens, and my wallet, and prepared myself for the long day that was ahead. I didn't plan my exit too well though, because I ended up waiting fifteen minutes for the bus to come. I also did not dress in accordance to the weather. I had only looked outside, and it looked glorious and sunny out. I assumed that since the last few days had been fairly warm, with temperatures above zero, that I would be safe in leaving my scarf and mittens at home. Extra bulk at the library usually ends up lost or stolen. So I donned my down jacket, and headed out with my supplies stores in my lovely shoulder-bag. Upon locking the door, and facing the world, I had a few doubts about leaving my winter accessories inside. However, thinking that the bus would be along to pick me up momentarily, I decided to abandon them anyways. However, as I already stated, the bus was not on time, and I ended up freezing my hands off at the stop. Sure, you can put your hands in your pockets, but that's not even close to being as warm as a great pair of mittens (which I have).

There were maybe 5 people on the bus with me. It became very clear to me that almost all my fellow students were not in Guelph this week. No doubt a majority of them are somewhere sunny and warm, sipping on some tropical (alcoholic) beverage of some sort, thinking about what level of sunscreen they should put on today. Those bastards. The only good thing about their departure was that I actually got a seat on the bus. I usually end up standing up, grabbing on to one of the poles for dear life, while the insane bus drivers whip around every corner, and generally drive like crazy people. Honestly, I think it is mandatory that all bus drivers have lead feet. I realize that they have to really push the buses, on account of all the additional weight...but is it really necessary that they are so gas-pedal happy? It's like gas gas BRAKE, gas gas BRAKE. When I'm standing up, this sort of driving is really not appreciated. And they KNOW they make frequent stops. So why gun it the short distance to the next stop?! I think they do it just to watch everyone standing lunge forward, trying to keep their balance.

But I digress.

I spent a good 7 hours in the library today, doing research for my Canadian Cultural Identity class. It's a fourth year seminar course, and it has potential to be super easy. We got to pick any topic (on Canadian Cultural Identity) to write about. Of course, this is when I seem to encounter a drought in creative thinking. I couldn't figure out what to write about. I ended up choosing something I thought was rather clever - Quebec Nationalism - until I got the face-slapping of a lifetime last week. We had to hand in an essay proposal, outlining what we wanted to write about, with a list of sources we'd consulted to far. The professor hands them back, saying how excited he is to read about MOST of the papers. One of the girls in my class then got the "great" idea to have him tell us some of the topics people were writing about. He launches into this list including hockey, maple syrup, provincial park systems and camping, curling, bilingualism, and a few other things. He doesn't mention my topic. I start to panic, obviously. He clearly hated my idea, why else wouldn't he have mentioned it in his slew of other topics. I decide to check the mark he gave me. I quietly flip to the back of my proposal, and am horrified to see a 68, crossed out in red pen, with a 70 scribbled beside it.

The comments, in a bold and authoritative typeface, go on to tell me that "This is not a particularly well focused proposal. It is far too loose in its conceptualization and background research to make a strong enough case that you can write this paper effectively." It goes on, but it's too depressing. Just take that sentence, and magnify it about a million times, and that's what the rest of his comments entailed. I stared hopelessly at the wall, wondering when class was over, so I could run, horrified, from the room. He had no faith in my paper. He basically told me I was a retard, and that I had no hope of writing a decent paper like the rest of my classmates. The thing that really puzzled me was how he justified giving me a 70 while at the same time doubting my ability to write the paper effectively. His comments seemed to signify a crappier mark that 70. Hell, even a crappier mark than the 68 that he crossed out.

He did offer me some pointers on what to research on though, and that's what I spent my day doing. I read through some pretty dry material, but I think I've got enough information that I CAN write this paper effectively. I really want to prove him wrong now. Yet somehow I doubt that he will be pleased with anything that I write. I mean, if you take Quebec nationalism in the 1960s and 70s, and compare that to an essay on hockey....well....COME ON. No contest. Mine will be a supreme bore, and a total flop.

Although, in my defence, what kind of moron writes a fourth year HISTORY paper on the cultural significance of hockey. Seriously. I think that person is a cop-out, and a total moron. At least I've got the balls to do a scholarly paper.

Anyways, my eyes are killing me, so I think I will pop in my iPod and prepare myself for the bus ride back home. Tonight has wonderful things in store for me, in the form of more reading. Oh, the joys of being a student in their final year of their undergraduate degree. I swear to god, when I graduate I am not reading a single (scholarly) thing for a least a month. I've completely forgotten what it is to read for pleasure.

Or to not read at all, for that matter.