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Marsh Madness Erin Marsh |
We have it so good. Yeah, yeah, I know - by this time today, you've already consumed at least 7,000 milligrams of caffeine and/or nicotine, groaned about how late you stayed up last night and complained about how late you'll have to stay up tonight to get everything done. I've done the same. But don't kid yourself - as students, we have it pretty darn good.
We basically choose our own schedules - except, of course, for those required concentration classes only offered at 8 a.m. Otherwise, we can pretty much decide when we want to get up, how long we want to sit in classes each day, and how long our coffee/lunch/nap breaks are.
We can even - and this is really cool - decide how much work we want to do. Go with me on this - have you not read the course descriptions in the Bible of all schedule-makers, the Course Guide? Now, some class descriptions say: "The course requires perfect attendance, frequent and intelligent participation and a 35-page term paper on an aspect of thermodynamics that you find particularly engaging." Hint: Those are the ones we don't sign up for, kids. (Unless, of course, it's one of those aforementioned 8 a.m. required concentration classes. In that case, I am terribly, terribly sorry.)
Other class descriptions say: "Show up as often as you can. If/when you make it to class, feel free to sleep in the back row. Drool. Express your individuality by systematically refusing to participate in discussions. One three-page paper required - unless, of course, you don't feel like doing it." But then, we can't all be communication majors. Buh-dump-buh. (Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm kidding. No nasty letters from comm. majors, please.)
Yup, student life is pretty good. We can call pretty much any of our friends at 2 a.m., and be reasonably confident that they're awake and willing to chat. We can wear the same sweatshirt to class for two consecutive weeks if we want to (though I doubt this will do wonders for your social life).
We can fit all of our worldly possessions - you know, used tissues, unbalanced checkbook, Michigan Money Saver coupon books - in a backpack. (Unless you're still playing "dress up like Mommy and Daddy" and carry a briefcase. You must have had a rough childhood - I apologize for all of the abuse you suffered on the playground.)
I'm firmly convinced that this student thing is great. As much as I whine about all the stuff I have to do, in my heart of hearts, I know I've got it made.
Along with this feeling of great satisfaction comes the knowledge that soon I will probably have to give it up. Then comes all the great fun: job search, interviews, sleepless nights, no way to pay the rent. Yuck. These are the days when the majority of my time will be spent composing suck-up letters like this:
"Dear Employer/God:
I want to be just like you when I grow up. If you give me a job, I will spit-shine your shoes until the day I drop dead of dehydration.
All the sincerity I can muster,
Erin E. Marsh"
Giving up studenthood means developing a vested interest in things like health care packages and 401(k) plans. I can foresee a lot of us saying things like, "Gee, I used to be really psyched to find a clean, used textbook ... now look at this fab benefits package!"
I have remarkably little interest in rising at the same time every day to go to the same place and do essentially the same thing. It's easy to change my perspective now - if I don't like a class, I can drop it. If I don't like the place where I live, I can move. If I don't like a summer job, it's only four months until I can go back to the world of books and learning and change.
A lot of people I know can't wait to give this all up. They want to go out into the "real" world, to make "real" money and wait for their "real" lives to start. They seem to be oblivious of the fact that, at this stage in our lives, this is as real as anything.
And so as I pick another round of classes (many of which I will probably dislike), finish another semester of papers and exams (and endure the sleepless nights that go along with them), and try to find the time and money to pretend I'm one of those normal "grown-up" people, I realize how frustrating and difficult it is.
And how great.
- Erin Marsh can be reached over e-mail at eemarsh@umich.edu.