| LiveJournal: Orpheum | [ The Athenaeum | Euphony ] |
| The Athenaeum | Archives | 02.10.03 |
I dwell in Possibility— [mood| artistic] This entry's appellation comes, once again, from Emily Dickinson, whose style intrigues me and whose poetry somehow touches my soul. For those of you who care (all three of you—hi, Aunt Edna!), I have officially registered classes for Spring 2003 at Cal Poly Pomona. This is done over a touchtone phone, interestingly enough, and my "appointment" was at 4:45 p.m. on Friday. If you're familiar with my luck (or marked lack thereof), I'm sure you can guess where we were at 4:45 p.m.—yes, that's right, in transit to the Mojave Desert, on a highway cutting through formidable hills, with only a cell phone at our disposal. So here I am, desperately hoping that the reception doesn't perish halfway through this crucial call (all of my classes had only 4-5 seats remaining), and what does the cruel robotic voice say over the phone in its maddening monotone? "There is a hold on your registration," naturally. I scramble for a list of extensions to various departments on campus, praying that the one I need isn't closed (everything closes early on Friday, for some reason), and dial up the Cashier's Office. After explaining my situation, determining that it was a matter of an additional tuition fee tacked on after the fact (I hadn't paid it off), and borrowing my dad's Mastercard, the lovely woman on the other end pressed a magic button and biff! a hold no more. I redialed the registration number, frantic and nearly cursing at this point, and, after a few tense, nail-biting minutes spent careening through ever-increasing hills and cringing at every intermittent blast of static, I was successfully registered. My schedule is below: Monday/Wednesday/Friday: Yes, that's five classes rather than the customary four, although for all practical purposes my two Intro. to Acting classes are one, three-hour class. (Introduction to Astronomy was offered this quarter, but by the time my appointment to register came around, the bloody class was full!) I must say that I'm a tad worried about my English classes again; I'm progressing through Cal Poly's English department in leaps and bounds, going from one 100-level English course in the Fall to two 200-level courses this Winter, and now two 300-level courses in the upcoming Spring. Huzzah? [Mild panic attack: I just realised that the final paper topic proposal for Am. Lit., comprising two pages of detailed analysis on specific passages from the massive anthology, is due in my professor's e-mail inbox by 4 p.m. today (Monday). Eep. Well, I suppose there's always time between class, thankfully.] As the time is now 4 a.m., I shall wait until tomorrow to regale you with sundry sordid tales of torrid romance and unbridled passion.* I shall leave you with a quatrain that, in a fleeting epiphany of inspiration and genius, I just composed; I've decided that it shall be the last in my growing poem of quatrains: As night is hoary in old age. Farewell, dear Reader, till anew My thoughts cascade upon the page. * To be fair, and to ensure that your hopes don't begin to float, only to be dashed on the cruel rocks of Reality, the only thing torrid in my life is indigestion, and "unbridled passion," alas, is something I will likely never experience. But I will spill my soul on the page, which might be entertaining to those who find pathos to be humorous. [Exit Orpheum.] |