…to spring break!  woo hoo.

Yes, it is true that I am not going to be doing Jell-O shots on some tacky, overcrowded Florida beach; I am not going to Mexico to drink tequila and behave inappropriately.  However, I will have a week to rest and relax (and recuperate).  I will be doing some homework – I have three books to read (in English) and I need to get the first 50 or so pages of Confessions read (en français, bien sûr), and read another 40 to 60 pages of the Colette novel we are reading (en français aussi), and I believe I need to study some vowel changes over the break (vowels, you may not know, are slippery characters).  There is some other homework that while it doesn’t need to be done over break, probably should be done since the pace is going to pick up after break.  It is analogous, but not as severe as the race after Thanksgiving – 5 weeks instead of 3.

I am getting antsy on so many fronts: spring break, obviously, and summer in France (also obviously), and fall semester followed by my final (undergrad) spring semester, followed (one hopes) by an exciting new phase where I devote myself to my studies at the graduate level – all while living in a brand new city.  It is hard to imagine the future, since so much of it is up in the air.  And while I’m up for some adventure, it is disconcerting when you have nothing to hang your hat on, so to speak.  Sure I will be in grad school (barring some unfortunate grade/test score debacle), but where?  I’m pretty sure I’ve decided where I will apply, but I’m not applying to the same department across the board.  Where will I live?  Will I get a TA position?  I’m focusing on the uncertainty, which is kind of silly, since I have a year of certainty (well, as much as one can be certain) left to go, not counting the glorious whirlwind that is 8 weeks in Europe.  Funny (maybe “ha ha”, maybe “strange”) that 8 weeks of uncertainty thrills me to my core, but 8 years of uncertainty causes me in a never-ending spiral of self-questioning.

But on to more pressing matters… I have plotted my next semester out – and I sweet-talked (or rather, sweet-e-mailed) my way into a graduate class.  Contemporary French Poetry (La Poésie Contemporaine) – which sounded infinitely more interesting than the Medieval/Renaissance/Early Modern class I was going to take.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against the whole Medieval/Renaissance/Early Modern bouillabaisse, but I would only be taking the class because it was the only other undergrad lit class I had the time for (I’m going to be taking a class on Paris Noir from 1930 to the present – I’m very revved up for that one).  I wanted to take a class where I could get passionate about the material.  And truth be told, while I recognize the universality of earlier literature, I’m really a modernist (and, when overtaken by whimsy, a post-modernist) at heart. 

But that’s next semester.  Spring break starts (for me) tomorrow at 2:10 pm.  If I need to feel all wild and crazy, I’ve got a bottle of Two Buck Chuck.  I could chug that and tell my cat how “freaking awesome” he is.  “I mean it, you’re the best, dude.”

Or, I could do some homework; and, if my ankle can take it, maybe some laundry. 

Woo Hoo.

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