So school has begun...
I've got my two rollerball pens which glide across the paper like hawks in the wind. I'll probably lose them both tomorrow. I've got a new-fangled binder thing in which I will write ALL my notes. This is opposed to last year where I has a bunch of books which I carefully labeled and colour coded based on the class. By the end of the first semester they were as confused and convoluted as land-ownership records after Russian occupation. Actually studying for an exam involved an absurd cross-notebook paper-trail and the deciphering of codes that I probably dreamed up while drunk. I figure if I'm doing mental acrobatics just to kick-off the study process I'll keep all my notes in one place.
I don't have class before 10am which is a wonderful relief. This means I have two whole hours to work myself into a wild rage about the Ottawa bus system before I get to school. Sadly, however --like last semester-- I've got a three hour radio show every Thursday morning starting at 6am. Like last semester I'll be crucified by my professor for 'not giving it enough life' on air. Perhaps I will start a serious cocaine addiction to deal with this issue.
Hey it is showbiz...
Our class of 50 has been whittled down to about 25 since the beginning of last year. It's hard to tell the exact number because everyone is moving around too much. They are an older more mature bunch, many of them are even 20 years old now. Many haircuts have been redesigned and streamlined. Many outfits slightly more subtle. Many zits far more sparse.
Even the class goof, whose chair toppled backwards, said "Oops, my bad." rather than make ass-head comments at the rest of the class from where he lay prone, his legs sticking straight up in the air.
They guy with the huge ego (who I genuinely like because of his honest authenticity) is slightly toned down. The guy with non-sequitors is slightly less non-sequitous. The chattering dumb-ass may have a bead. The girl I have a not-so-secret crush is more underwhelmed, and the other one with the outfits smiles a little more.
Yes. The electricity of shared excitement and/or doom permeates the air. We are second years now. They are first years --all 50 of them.
I got my first year buddies yesterday; the two guys who I am meant to train and coach along the way. Like many of the other first years I wonder if they'll make the cut. Will they strive and persevere amidst the torrent of work and extreme stress of on air work. Will they climb the scholarly mountain and shake their fists at the sky when May rolls around next year?
Nah. They're pretty much fucked.
But forget all that. The question really is: Will I?
