hemlock heming(a)way

it's horrible. you wont believe it... it's seriously horrible. they are killing me. ive been online for the last 8 hours, and i thynk ive lost my eyes. (mind was missing from the begining). tehy made us send emails. no seriously. it's apparently a part of the course. we were supposed to send a 600 word email to our prof describing our college exp. more so of the first day. dude... ive been writing these *my first day at school* essays since i was 0.1 years old. and man it pisses me off. but still i did a loverly job and it would be a pity if the mails went unread :> so here goes ;) The first day at **** seems like ancient history, even if it's only been 10 day. I guess that may have something to do with the 48-hour days we have been spending, trying to cope with the workload. But certain memories linger, and one of them for me was trying to find my way around the academic block. The bland white octagonal building, constructed to project the finest principles of symmetry, does nothing to ease a student's dilemma, and perhaps the only landscaping that breaks this monotony would be the commemorative plaque outside the Xxxxxx Xxxxxx Auditorium. I also distinctly remember comparing the structure to the 130-year old National College of Arts building where I spent the last four years of my life. The ancient red-brick structure with lofty ceilings and arched doorways oozed history... a striking comparison to the sense of modernity this place exudes. The hardest thing for me was to break out of my shell and speak to the woman sitting next to me during orientation. Not much of an extrovert by nature, I had figured I could spend the next two years here without really speaking with anyone... at least I felt I could get away with it. After all, I was paying through my nose for education, not friends and feminine-bonding. But just the orientation session in itself proved me completely wrong, and warned me to be prepared for what lay ahead. Beyond that, the first day at ***** seems to have passed in a blur. 100 new names and faces, people I’ll be rubbing shoulders with across the nest two years, a programme I don’t know much about, and dived into head first… such apprehensions tend to take away from memories of little things like “the first day at school”. Although all those years later, when I walked onto the campus clutching my bag, putting one quivering foot before the other, I think it may as well have been my first day at preschool. The only difference being, that was my parent’s decision, and they walked me into class as I held on to my mother’s finger for my dear life. This journey will pretty much be my own -- on my own. signed, me. ufff... mushy.com, no? but really i hate the buildings here. but since ive seen worse, i shut up. i wrote another email, also a part of the whatchamaycallit. "you went to Wooster??? that's a way cool school dude!!! zabardast! in terms of contributing positively in class, it's like, i get this creeyp feeling at the back of my neck, that tells me it's people point at me, telling me to put a lid on it. and considering i dont even talk that much in class (relatively speaking ofcourse)... i wonder if my fears are unfounded. I’ve pretty much managed to stay afloat in the first 10 days of SOP (Or was it 8? It seems like eternity to me), but that’s just as far as it gets. I’m thinking, if this is all there is to it, I just may survive another 18 months of it… provided this is all there is to it. Should it go any further, I think I’ll go down, hook line and sinker… regardless of what the IPS guy Mr Aziz says. I mean, there is positive talk, and then there is realistic talk. And then there is a subtle difference between the two. and the seniors really mustn't scare us like that man, it's bad enough as it is -- without them foretelling my doom. But then there is always the ownership of CitiBank in question, and I guess if there is this one thing in life no woman would turn down, ever, it’d have to be a bank. I guess enough motivation, and nothing is improbable. what say you?" no one will read them b4 they are chuked into the trashcan forever. i thought id save them for me. perhaps my finest pieces of writings. ever. feel free to nominate me for the booker prize. i shall not object.