Week #2 Of School (Faux-Losophy).

I've got exactly one week of graduate school in philosophy under my belt at this point. So far, I am:

FREAKING OUT!!!!!!!

First of all, it's been two years since I was in any sort of academic setting at all. I forgot what it was like to read things because you had to read them! I forgot what it was like to have to budget your time accordingly! At a job, they plan out your time for you. Usually 9-5, M-F. It's set! And when you're not there, you can just fuck around and eat Chee-tohs or whatever.

In school, you have to make it your beeswax to make sure you'll have enough time to get reading done. I predict, in my future, way less drinking and way less social time. Except that when I do drink/socialize, it will be monumental.

Also, being in class is actually kind of scary. Actually, it's really scary. All of these people are pretty brilliant. The professors are brilliant, and well-versed. Anyway, I'd love to talk up in class, but first I've got to think of something to say. Right now, I'm just absorbingabsorbingabsorbing. I listen, and I take notes, and I think, and I try to wrap my head around things, and before I even get to the point where I'm finally understanding the concept, someone else has already pointed out a detrimental flaw in the argument.

On the surface, it's not that complicated. In each class, you (A) read a fuckload, (B) talk about it in class, and then, at the end of the semester, you (C) write a paper about it.

I hope my papers don't suck! I hope I write them well! I hope I spell things correctly! I hope I have something to say!

My biggest fears: What if I'm not able to do this? What if the stress ends up killing me? What if there's something else I should be spending my time (and money) on? What if I just can't hack it?

Hopefully, in a few months, I quit freaking out. Hopefully, in a few months, I re-learn the language that philosophers use, and I don't have to read every paragraph 3 times and look up every other word/concept. Hopefully I can handle everything that's presented to me.

I hope I can look back on this blog and tell myself, "Cory, chillax, bro! You'll be fine!" Also, I hope I'm able to say, "Cory! Try your best, but it doesn't really matter anyway, because you become a rock star/business mogul/hitman/drug cartel."

I am going to need constant reassurance/support/love. I will now pre-emptively thank you for these things.