Stop, drop and convene

I don't take pride in the fact I already dropped a class.

But when I realized I was doomed before the professor even finished reading the syllabus, I knew what had to be done.

"By next week," she said, "You need to have finished your novel and a rough draft of your essay turned in."

So I wrote down in my student planner, "Read novel and do rough draft."

"Also," she continued, "read the first two chapters of your text, and take your online quiz by this Friday BEFORE class convenes."

"Read chapters and take quiz before class ... convenes?" I thought as I wrote it down. I knew I had heard that strange word "convenes" before, but I think it had been used to describe the flamingo mating ritual on the National Geographic channel; I had never heard it used in a classroom setting.

Finally, I just wrote down "Drop class."

It was called Writing about Literature and actually sounded like an interesting course. However, I've come to learn that when something sounds interesting, it usually means I will fail at it miserably. Little did I know I would actually have to write about literature, which meant I had to read, which meant I had to comprehend a bunch of words put together, which meant my brain would explode, which meant I would die, which meant my parents would collect my life insurance policy and build a Jacuzzi room.

You'd think I'd enjoy reading since I like to write, but I have about as much patience to read as a moldy banana (and it was discovered moldy bananas are incapable of being patient after years of scientific research was conducted in the early '90s).

I don't really feel too bad for dropping it, because we got a full refund; plus, I didn't have to have that class for my major or minor.

So now I'm at 12 hours, down from my originally planned 15. I also had 12 hours last semester, because I dropped another class called Comparative Political Systems. I got rid of it due to the fact our professor could never give us a straight answer, and you could tell this when she started her sentences off with "Well, ultimately" and "Well, usually." Also, her notes resembled a treasure map drawn by a blind homeless man whose life ambition was to be Capt. Hook.

Now to catch up, I'll most likely have to take six hours this summer if I want to graduate when I'm supposed to. My parents like to refer to it as "summer school" as if I actually failed the semester, which I haven't -- yet.

I'm just hoping the rest of the semester goes according to plan and nothing life-altering happens, like getting a parking ticket. I've received several in the past and it's pretty frustrating. When I get one, I usually vent my anger by talking during the movies and throwing trash along the interstate in hopes of seeing it printed in Speak Out.

Oh, I need to go. Part seven of a National Geographic special is on in a few minutes. Today they're going to discuss why rodents convene so much inside the hamster wheel.

Contact Sam at sdereign@ semissourian.com.