I was a little wound up by the end of last term. I only had three gen-ed classes, but a couple were pretty stressful. Public Speaking wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Thankfully, the class was very small and everyone got along great. I still give horrible speeches. I have an absolutely worthless short-term memory. Even if it’s a paper that I wrote from the top of my head just before class, I can’t get up in front and remember what my main points were, an acceptable order they should go in, nor any supporting evidence. I would try and make note cards, but I’d end up reading the points and couldn’t remember why the hell I had written these strange characters that made sense only moments ago. I would really write the paper as if I was speaking and felt more comfortable reading from the paper.
Also, I can’t imagine ever being assigned a speech in the real world. “Hey, listen, we’re gonna need you to persuade us to do something next week. I don’t care what it is, just make sure your sources are MLA-formatted.”
Never going to happen.
Research Methodologies was also a source of some stress, although I place the blame firmly upon my own shoulders. The entire point of the 9-week class was to write a single 25-page research paper. First couple classes, we picked a topic and wrote out a preparation document as well as a schedule. After that, each class was just busy work. I complained that we should be writing the paper in class instead of this nonsense, but after the hour of make-work we would just leave, maybe go hang out with the Linux kids. I had so much time to work on it here and there, but it never happened. I can never seem to do bite-size pieces of work. I have to get into it.
Then, the deadline was quickly approaching and I had nothing but a topic, a rough outline, and a handful of sources. A week left, with no other work to do, entire weekend to bang this paper out; nothing. The paper was due on a Wednesday. Monday night, after getting home from work, I decide to spend a good 6 hours on it. I start on the introduction. Okay, page one out of twenty-five is golden. Sigh. I slowly come to the wrenching realization that this paper is not going to get done like this. So I gather my sources. I skim through and try to conceptualize the order and flow of something that could vaguely be called a research paper. I cut and paste fifteen pages of quotes for an hour. By now, I’m already bored and the fast-approaching deadline doesn’t produce the same physical illness. I’m done for the day.
The next day, Tuesday, I have class. Thankfully, I have a couple hours before class to work on this paper. I polish up the intro a little bit, I go through and start replacing quotes with my own words and arguments. Maybe two more pages done. Didn’t feel up to working on anything when I got home. The situation is dire. The panicked thoughts start making sense. “Just forget it, you don’t need the stress, you won’t get it done, just drop the class, you screwed up.”
No, I have enough time to try. I don’t want to have to go through this again. I take the day off of work on Wednesday. I wake up later than I like and keep making excuses not to get this paper done. I figure I should eat something before I get to work. There’s nothing, I don’t know what I want to eat anyway. I need some music, some background noise to quell the racing thoughts. Now I can’t think, I need silence to concentrate. Familiar anxiety starts to accumulate in my chest, now powerful enough to grip vital organs, wresting them from normal function. Just do it. Work. Now.
I move through the pages. Progress is slow but steady. Sacrifices must be made. Quotes are longer than I’d like, I wouldn’t use those words, that doesn’t fit perfectly there. The clock is unforgiving, seconds passing by faster as I type furiously. I should be getting ready for class. No, I’ve got precious minutes before I absolutely need to leave. Cut this part out, jam in another quote, rewrite that nonsense. This is it, I’m actually writing the conclusion. It’s only a fifteen-page paper, but it’s done. I speed to school to set up and finish the bibliography and speech notes. I’m almost in the clear.
We also had a give a twenty minute (!) presentation on our paper. As mentioned, I’m horrible at speaking in front of a group. But now it’s surreal. I’m completely unprepared for a speech. What I wrote is a blur, my speech notes make no sense. I start the speech, but it’s like I’m not speaking. I’m not speaking. I’m actually outside of my body, watching this strangely familiar person open their mouth, but what is this gibberish that’s being released? He’s done. His strange, fumbling monologue already forgotten. Sit down, you fool!
I was just glad that it was all over. I was tragically optimistic, thinking that even a ‘D’ grade would pass me, if I were so lucky. Grades were supposed to be posted the next day. They were not. Why? Was he actually reading these? Did my paper require further scrutiny? Was he contacting some literary authority to have me banned from using language? Grades were finally posted a couple days later. This can’t be, 335 out of 350 points? Assuming it was a stellar paper, he takes off two points for each page under the requirement, making it 330. I didn’t dress appropriately for the speech, that’s another ten points. No Powerpoint, there’s another ten. I should be down to 310, assuming it was a perfect paper. He obviously didn’t read it. I got an A. Satisfaction slowly washes over me. I really need to learn my lesson and use time more wisely. I can’t have many last-minute miracles left.