Working in this heat burns me out, quick. I performed my commute, 1.2hrs one way, worked 10hrs in the heat, mostly outside, performed the return home commute, in the blistering heat without AC no less, and finally got home a complete mess of heat induced brainial contortion. I took time to recover, though I managed to squeeze in bike ride, which at 11am the heat was already bad, which in turn led to my afternoon of couch paralysis. The work thing I get to do again tomorrow. I wish there was an easier, softer way, and I feel getting an education is worthless sometimes. As a result of this malady that is my life, I’m perfecting the art of résumé and personal statement writing, as I will not be denied entry into a master’s degree program. It’s as simple as that. Live right or die.
This brings to mind the ongoing, yet last of my campus introductions, where the emphasis on the seriousness of the schoolwork is a perpetually driven message to incoming students. This doesn’t scare me because I’m not playing games with the work and I’m not at university to embrace some experience that might change my life. I chose university for the specific purpose of developing my abilities among the toughest of standards. I’m a competitive person, a trait I’m not always proud of, but I’m learning more and more to utilize my competitive attitude toward the aspect of basic accomplishment. This has been the paradox with me: I’m competitive, but truthfully, I have no accomplishments that stand as a testament to my competitive spirit. Thus my competitiveness is most likely in truth, a character defect, where I must be experiencing some need to prove something. One drastic difference between university and community college is the institution of connecting with others or face bizarre social consequences. I’m looking forward to working in the environment, as opposed to community college, where the attitude was a little alienating and less involved, and the students weren’t quite the same; although my particular community college totally rocked for the most part.
Now I have to go get ready and do this death-heat work-day tomorrow. Heat is serious can do damage, as I’ve learned from spending the afternoon recovering. I’d like to squeeze in some writing time if I’m lucky. I’ll try; this lack of scheduling, intense slave-laboring hinders my creative process. I remember when I first got serious, I worked four days a week Friday–Monday, and had Tues., Wed., and Thurs. to write to my heart’s content. The problem: unsustainable. I made about $150.00 short of what I needed to live, and eventually I ran out of money…yeah, before the big publishing contract, too, I know. Bummer. So close and yet o so far. But I have my will to continue, and I always have one of my favorite passages to inspire me when I feel like giving up:
Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also closed around, and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.
It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut, and I was obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky was serene, and as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage I saw the lightnings playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly; and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.
I quitted my seat and walked on, although the darkness and storm increased every minute and the thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head. It was echoed from Saleve, the Juras, and the Alps of Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant everything seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over that part of the lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copet. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes, and another darkened and sometimes disclosed the Mole, a peaked mountain to the east of the lake.
While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with a hasty step. The noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! This is thy funeral, this thy dirge!” As I said these, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near; I stood fixed, gazing intently; I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy demon to whom I had given life.
~ Mary Shelley
