Monday, April 13, 2009

Here we are again

Yes. History class.

Generally I don't like to write here if I only have a limited time in which to do it. I like having an entire night to think about things, and get them down here. But maybe having only half an hour to say what I have to say will be good for me.

Especially since this whole thing came to me in the middle of my musicianship exam, and I can't wait to get it down.

It's almost summer. Almost the end of classes. Only one more week. Not even that, because I have no classes Thursday, and I'll be away Friday.

My point is, the end of my first year of university is very close.

Ever year, for as long as I can remember, I get the same feeling when summer comes around. Maybe I just haven't been able to describe it like this until now.

In musicianship this morning it suddenly occurred to me that I survived long enough to make it to summer.

All year we work through school. We do papers, we spend hours, days, of our lives in practice rooms, trying to find that something inside of us that the rest of the world actually wants to hear. We drink, we party, we suffer hangovers. We make mistakes, and we screw up. We procrastinate, and run out of time, pull all nighters, and nap in class the next morning. We go through times where we would rather just curl up and die than have to go through the next few days. We wonder whether our major is actually what we want to do with the rest of our lives. We wonder whether a university degree is actually as important as it seem, and whether it wouldn't be more efficient to just forget about it entirely. And I'm almost positive that at least one during this year, the same brief idea has occurred to everybody. Would it actually be so bad to just give up?

But we didn't. We made it to the summer, and we're seeing the end of the year.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how beaten to shit our ego is, or how little sleep we've gotten over the course of the week, or how many assignments we have due, and haven't started...

At the end of the day, we still pull ourselves together, pick up what little of our sanity is left from the floor, bandage our sprained dignity...

And we get up the next morning to go through it all again.

Does that mean that I care more about just survival than actually doing well?

Maybe a little bit.

But that's how I roll. And I'm still here, at the end of my days as a first year student. So I must be doing something right.

Ah, I almost forgot the most important part.

At the end of the day,

I have no regrets.


"I'm stressed for you."

1 comment:

Musica Diabolos said...

Ah, yes, good description of the regrets for me either! I'm stoked for starting it all again! Even musicianship.