The Spring semester starts in eight days, and it's making its presence known.
This morning, I had to battle heavy server loads and thousands of fellow students to claim classes for a new class schedule. I ended up with a rather decent schedule, much more organized than last semester's, more convenient, and with the space to take the German Play: Student Production class recommended to me by my prof and her colleague last semester. This adds three hours to my schedule, something that is not a science class, and an extra step towards fluency auf Deutsch. However, I was unable to register for the Organic Chemistry II section with the amazing prof, which I should have signed up for earlier but didn't because it conflicted with my Genetics class. So now I am number 53 out of 80 on his waitlist, so I probably won't get into the class, but that's all right because I am in another section with a decent professor anyway. I had to change Genetics sections so I could accomodate German and the (however slim) hope of getting into the Very Popular Professor's class. (Who, by the way, is incredibly engaging. He was one of the Friday speakers at a Geeky Science Organization meeting, and at least five students asked to join his lab as undergrad researchers at the end of the presentation. And he turned them all down because he already has forty or more such minions. He also wrote our textbook.)
Academic jockeying aside, I waited for hours for the postman to come by and deliver the mail (whilst the Infernal Dance from Stravinski's Firebird played on and on in my head, go figure [I have now learned that the proper term for this is earworm]), only to find out that Highly Selective Science Program hasn't sent me a letter yet. If, by the end of the week and before classes start, I have not received that letter, it is highly likely that I may die from pent-up stress and nervousness. As of now, I remain the Schrödinger's Cat of nerdy undergrads, in a state that could be either Accepted or Rejected, but shall not be fixed until the Opening Of The Envelope. Is it too late to get started on Voodoo?
(Why, yes, that is a Physics joke in the title.)
(Incidentally, the Navier-Stokes equations are what Father dearest does for a living. Fancy that.)
This morning, I had to battle heavy server loads and thousands of fellow students to claim classes for a new class schedule. I ended up with a rather decent schedule, much more organized than last semester's, more convenient, and with the space to take the German Play: Student Production class recommended to me by my prof and her colleague last semester. This adds three hours to my schedule, something that is not a science class, and an extra step towards fluency auf Deutsch. However, I was unable to register for the Organic Chemistry II section with the amazing prof, which I should have signed up for earlier but didn't because it conflicted with my Genetics class. So now I am number 53 out of 80 on his waitlist, so I probably won't get into the class, but that's all right because I am in another section with a decent professor anyway. I had to change Genetics sections so I could accomodate German and the (however slim) hope of getting into the Very Popular Professor's class. (Who, by the way, is incredibly engaging. He was one of the Friday speakers at a Geeky Science Organization meeting, and at least five students asked to join his lab as undergrad researchers at the end of the presentation. And he turned them all down because he already has forty or more such minions. He also wrote our textbook.)
Academic jockeying aside, I waited for hours for the postman to come by and deliver the mail (whilst the Infernal Dance from Stravinski's Firebird played on and on in my head, go figure [I have now learned that the proper term for this is earworm]), only to find out that Highly Selective Science Program hasn't sent me a letter yet. If, by the end of the week and before classes start, I have not received that letter, it is highly likely that I may die from pent-up stress and nervousness. As of now, I remain the Schrödinger's Cat of nerdy undergrads, in a state that could be either Accepted or Rejected, but shall not be fixed until the Opening Of The Envelope. Is it too late to get started on Voodoo?
(Why, yes, that is a Physics joke in the title.)
(Incidentally, the Navier-Stokes equations are what Father dearest does for a living. Fancy that.)
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