Matt Wertz sings a song with lyrics that say, “Let me be with you tonight. Everything will be just fine.” The context of it is rather inconsistent with the point I’m thinking of right now, but the chorus (it’s playing on my iTunes at the moment) strikes me as being SO applicable to where I’m at tonight.
Today has just not been the best of days. Yesterday ended in the early hours of today, so when my alarm clock went off at half past six, let’s just say I wasn’t feeling too keen on popping out of bed like a daisy out of snow (who knows that movie reference???). Alas, with my lack of internet connection here, I’d promised someone I’d check my email at a specific time, which required getting up and going to school. The email I was waiting for hadn’t come in (irritation #1…), and thus no appointment today for the nanny position I applied for. As it turns out, I have PLENTY of homework to keep me busy (the qualitative value of “PLENTY” should generally be interpreted as “a LOT.” And yes, capitalization is imperative to communication this understanding), so Poppy put-put-putted back to my apartment where I read a whole bunch of Emily Dickinson poems for my Early American Lit class, many of which were actually interesting, and tore into a paper that’s due Wednesday.
Can I just state, at this point in this rambling blog, that I’m actually opposed to a week long break over Thanksgiving? While I am grateful for how the timing of Thanksgiving break worked out for my “adventures” with my car, having a full 10 days off of school three weeks before finals finish is just ridiculous. I think the idea is to give people a chance to work on homework and final papers, but I’d rather just have my professors lessen the load a little, take a four-day weekend, and jump back into classes before the rhythm of school can be broken irreparably… As it is, last week I got virtually no homework done (which I confess is completely my fault, and therefore irritation #2), because between the family events, hanging out with my siblings and parents, doctor’s appointments, social appointments, Thanksgiving dinner prep, and wi-fi from anywhere in my house, let’s just say homework seemed less than interesting. Like, at the peon level. Alas (do you think I can stick that word in every paragraph?), I’m reaping the sour fruit of last week NOW.
Three pages into the 11-13 pages I’m required to have, and a good three or four hours later (because, of course, after quality time with Emily, the majority of my study hours were spent flipping back through my sources to find quotes and formulate my argument), my five hours of sleep were catching up and the single beam of sunlight to appear all day that was splashing through my window onto my reading corner was just toooooooo enticing. I took a nap. While I napped I forgot I’d put left over lentil soup on “low” on the burner, which meant a peculiar burned-lentil-soup odor when I woke up (irritation #3). After dumping the soup into another pot, burning my tongue while I was downing a bowl of it (irritation #4), and leaving the pot with black legumes in the sink to soak, off I went to classes.
My car popped out of gear three times on the way to school (irritation #5), which has me wondering what’s wrong with it. In my African American Lit class I was handed back a paper and my final paper proposal. The paper I was happy with my prof’s comments, but the proposal got only an A- (irritation #6). Contrary to what you might think, I would not actually consider myself a perfectionist. I spend too much time with my head in the clouds to be perfect at anything. Therefore, my house hasn’t been dusted in weeks, if I sweep it every month I’m feeling accomplished, my closet is not arranged by colors, and my dresser drawers, although closed, have very little organizational credit. My car has been washed once since I bought it, and there are piles of books sitting on all my chairs, so I end up sitting on the floor regularly rather than move them. I really am not OCD. And when it comes to schoolwork in a general sense – meaning, other people’s work – I really don’t care what kind of grades they get. If one of my sisters gets a C or B on a test and feels like they’ve done a good job with that, I’m proud of them and happy for them. But when it comes to MY schoolwork, anything less than the best is simply unacceptable. This may sound completely arrogant – although I don’t mean it to be so – but I believe that I have the ability to get top grades, and if I don’t, then I feel like I personally am failing in some way. An A- on a proposal is simply not good enough.
Tucking my papers into my bag, off I went to Early American Lit. At the end of class I was handed back my Final Project Prospectus, which had a big, fat, B- on the front of it (irritation #7). Perhaps the most frustrating thing is that I cannot be mad at the professor for grading me unfairly, because I did NOT put in the time needed to make this prospectus good! It was due via email last Friday night, and I didn’t do anything on it until Friday evening. I knew it was crappy when I turned it in, and I know that the grade on top reflects the effort put into it… Which is perhaps what makes me the most frustrated, because having a mirror put up to my face showing my shortcomings is humbling and revealing. For this assignment, I am a bad student. I dislike being a bad student almost as much as I would dislike being told I had to stay within 50 miles of where I am right now for the rest of my life (for any of you who know me, you know that would be an extremely harsh punishment…!).
But what does all of this have to do with character??? (That’s a reference to the title – I know, you’ve probably already forgotten…) As I count up these irritations from today, I realize I’m facing a choice: I can either let these irritations royally tick me off and allow me to either be mad at myself, sink into self-woe, or “vent” my anger on the next person who calls my cell phone by being short and/or harsh with them… OR, I can see these irritants as grains of sand that are polishing off the imperfections of my character. I think of it kind of like the sandblaster at the dentist – when a cavity starts to form but before it gets so big that it needs to be drilled and filled, sometimes they use a sandblaster to eradicate the decay. Each of these little incidents is like direct sugar on my teeth. They’re each providing the opportunity to corrupt if I don’t manage them. I don’t want to allow decay to set in, however, so I’m choosing to look at them as God’s little polishing drill on the character of my life. They’re lessons I can learn from, opportunities for growth, and mistakes I can make sure to not make again. Even though I don’t like it – just like I don’t like going to the dentist very much to get sandblasted – I am thankful that they can help correct faults in my life.
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