I haven't the slightest idea what I am going to write about. I've been staring at a blank computer screen for about an hour now, and my desk chair is comfortably molded to my ass. I have come to the realization at this point of my college career, that I am now a dry well of creativity. But I haven't the time to be sitting around, feeling sorry for myself. There are currently one hundred million other things that must be attended to, all at the same time. .
Countless deadlines and due dates are getting confused like my credit card payments. I should have known what I was getting into by the way my advisor chuckled as he registered me for this spring, and last full semester of my college career. I only saw it as a meager fifteen credits, but I didn't realize that it would lead me on a search for the tallest bridge in the city to jump from. .
Fifteen credits is not a heavy course load. I can remember carrying fifteen credits throughout my freshman year, but things seemed to have changed. As I returned home tonight, close to midnight, from my two three-hour classes and endless hours of sitting in the library reading a grand total of around 158 pages, I realized that I haven't even began to chip away at the academic mountain that lies before me. I still need to read, understand, write about and be able to discuss well over 450 more pages of enlightening text in order to be considered up-to-date with this week's course work.
Before this semester is over I will have read thirteen novels, one text book, typed about fifty-three pages of my own polished writing, provided at the very least, 108 pages in response to my classmates" polished writing, given one presentation on a subject with which I am not yet familiar, talked about a writer that I know nothing about, constructed three informative web pages by writing HTML code, completed two take-home exams, four in-class exams, five unannounced quizzes, two scheduled quizzes and a partridge in a pear tree.
