First of week classes: check. Feeling of fulfillment and overwhelming self-glorification over my stellar ability to accomplish work on time and get things done: NOT APPLICABLE.
The first week was difficult last fall semester—but this I thought was due to the fact that I was transitioning frosh and couldn’t look at an ice cream cone without thinking of my family. This fall semester I realize that when the first week of classes comes around, circumstances are rough and pointy all around for everyone. [1]  Before coming from a somewhat miraculously successful summer, I made sure I had my classes in order—but of course, like with any other good ‘plans’ I make, they unravel before me (shaving down my pride, developing muscles for my Bryn–Mawr-Be-Brave face). I got waitlisted for two classes that I had pre-registered for—the two classes I hoped would be my release from the drudgery of pre-med requirements (I’m taking two labs–Chem and Physics as well as Calc…). I wouldn’t dread this so had I not been forced by fate in spring semester to take an English class at Haverford, regarding a subject that I was completely uninterested in, on top of the fact that I was probably the only frosh in the class (meaning that I was intimidated beyond reasonable understanding and I would not speak in class unless called on, which still fills me with terror).

I registered for another English course, and went to classes for the first week without any enthusiasm. However, after doing the assignments and devoting myself to silence the cynical embittered voice in my head throughout class, I think the class is great. Really. The professor is super passionate and enthusiastic, and takes everything anyone has to say into account (does not dismiss even the seemingly trivial commentary). The case of the waitlist easily resolved. And the convocation picnic and its sunshine and food and Frisbees deceived me into believing that this week would churn itself into butter.

I have also already managed to spread myself thin. After a summer that consisted of sedentary activity (besides my pilgrimage to Spain and Ireland, getting up to go to the fridge and when I’d volunteer at the hospital) I decided that this year I would be active, give myself a physical activity in which I can relieve all my anxieties by knocking people about. With that intention in mind, Rugby was the obvious answer. Although this in some ways creates more anxieties regarding performance in said sport as well as probable injuries that may incur severe spino-cerebral damage that can impair me for life or maybe even end said “life”[2], I think that it will keep me fit, as least physically and serve to be an efficient stress outlet.  On top of Rugby, (MWF practices, Saturday games) I am constantly disappointing the Mujeres Exec. Board but showing up late or not at all to plan and budget for this semester (which includes Latina Heritage Month; very important). Did I mention I work two jobs (how else would I pay for my Calc, Chem, and Physics text books and my Modernisms books?)?

And would you know it, that after all this I had no water balloons for Parade night?[3] Thankfully my faithful roommate, Mo, and her friends had some that I helped throw…the long weekend was a blur from the Step Sing[4] on.

The first week is also replete with post-summer friend issues (the straw that breaks the back; hence the tears that ensue into the second week of classes). The summers that sandwich our semesters change everything. And these changes are the first things we have to feel out and learn when we come back. Re-learning each other, re-learning ourselves in these different contexts. Learning that we are not static beings. So you can only imagine what it’s like to carefully (it’s important to be so when untangling these knots) wade through all the social issues as well as resolve your scheduling conflicts and decide what volunteer positions you’re going to apply for[5] (I opted for Bryn Mawr Hospital…still working on that) and how you are going to fulfill your gym requirements (and still have fun) and such.

Everything works its self out though.  And it works out in a way that allows for a new appreciation of hard work, hardly working, and for the new tides we slip into.

[1] The first week of classes is designated, ‘shopping week’. This is a week where you can register for five bajillion classes (n.b. this is an exaggeration) and go to each one, testing out the waters and getting a feel for what classes you actually want to take and which ones you’ll decide to drop. If a class is full, you will suffer the wrath of the lottery. Some students, especially those who have declared their majors, will get in the class, and others (usually underclassman) will get waitlisted. If you’re not top three on that waitlist, forget about it bucko.  You might as well drop the class. Or if you’ve got money, (which trust me, with the cost of books and other necessities you won’t) you can take Athena’s statue to a spa. But even then. Athena is a fickle lady so I’d say its not worth the try.

[2]  For after all, is this really life? I’M IN TRAINING TO BE A CORPORATE MONKEY—A SLAVE TO QUANTITY COMPLETELY DISREGARDING QUALITY! Okay, just kidding but seriously—pursuing passions is a difficult thing.  Completing more than one task thoroughly is a super power.

[3] A night dedicated to welcoming of the frosh. Sophomores are responsible for pummeling the kids with water balloons and spraying them with water guns. SHOUT OUT TO 2015 WE REALLY GOT YOU KIDS GOOD!

[4] The way in which we usually end our traditions, gather around the Senior Steps of Taylor Hall and sing and join in great merriment. Then we wish each and every person a Good Night.

[5]  I think that volunteering is pretty important. Another part of being a healthy college student is feeling that in some way you are helping—even if it’s part of your own learning experience.