T-minus 11 days and counting

To say that I learned a lot last week would be a gross understatement. Besides all of the collegey, highfalutin stuff I learned in the paper-writing, research-presenting, textbook-reading process of trying to complete my degrees, I also observed myself in rare form.

Exhibit A: I essentially gave up all semblances of a social life or a functional relationship to compose piles and piles of... stuff. I see evidence that other people do that every once in a while, but--as Kacie so gently reminds me--I am a raging nerd. It's sort of become my life. So instead of wiiing, corn-holing or otherwise involving myself with my friends, I wrote. But what I learned was that I love writing about poetry. I could write volumes about poetry and never get tired. Same goes for art. I could write a manifesto on the need for art and poetry without blinking an eye. The same does not apply to Jesus. Not that Jesus can't write about poetry, but that I don't want to spend the rest of my life writing about Jesus.

In the quest to decide what I want to study in grad school, that's a major revelation. Je ne pense pas que je voudrais étudier le Français, donc... that leaves gender studies, English, and professional writing.

On the other side of a very difficult week, I feel completely honored and utterly flabbergasted to report that I won four awards this week.

First, the Zeak Monroe Buckner Creative Writing Award, which I won for a non-fiction essay called "Upon Encountering the Sabine Women." I have three people to thank immediately for that. The first is Mary Sue Rix for sending me to France on a reasonable budget so that I had an experience to write about. The second is Jenn Strange for always saying "enter yo' shit" (except, of course, without any profanity and with impeccable grammar), and for writing helpful comments like "is this nonsense?" instead of just copping out of the editing process by saying, "yeah, that was a good essay." The third is actually a conglomeration of about four other people who critiqued my essay in class with great temerity and viciousness. It's a good feeling.

The second was the M. T. Brewerton Award for English, which I got (with two other people) for being a good kid and trying real hard. It's for high GPA and general awesomeness. It mostly just makes me feel warm and fuzzy and I kind of want to hug all of my English professors.

Third and fourth, I placed first in the Humanities portion of the Student Research Forum, largely through Dr. Kim's persistence and interest in my topic. (There were only four presenters so I'm not going to pretend that I beat back a throng of PhD candidates, only a small throng of other swamped, trying-to-graduate types.) And the French Department (AKA Dr. Kress) gave me a sizable award for completing my book, which ships on May 7th, and will be BEAUTIFUL.

Mostly, I'm just so thankful for all the opportunities at this school. (Yes Kacie, more ammunition for your anti-nerd mockery). I'm glad I've gone here. I'm glad it took me five years and that I came in with the class of people I did. I occasionally marvel at the general insanity that is Centenary, but it seems to suit me.

All of this was topped with an RCB cherry. It's a marvel how a hotel can book a bunch of Fraternity boys (ahem, men) and their dates--half of whom showed up in sombreros--and not expect a loud, unruly party. This isn't the Texarkana Disgruntled Podiatrists' Association (though I hear they tear it up at dance parties).

Anyway, it's been a long week, and I suspect there's more to come. Directly after finals my family arrives. Directly after that I'm going to New Orleans with my mom and Jed. And the day after, at 9:15 a.m., I leave for India. If I expected a second to gasp for air...

At least it's never boring.