I have a research proposal due Saturday for my conservation biology class at the Bronx Zoo. The pressure of this assignment is sitting on my sore trapezius muscles. I can’t seem to think of a worthy research question that doesn’t commit me to massive amounts of work or structure a plausible research methodology, especially difficult without knowing the research topic. Normally I tackle my assignments well in advance. Easily distracted and easily overwhelmed, I map out the entire semester’s course load the first week of class and adhere to a strict academic itinerary. I don’t do this because I enjoy the satisfaction of meeting deadlines early, no; it is merely a preventative action that ensures my obligations be fulfilled without eating up too much emotional and physical energy, which I need for more important things like my relationships and making a paycheck to pay tuition, rent and occasional eBay crap.

The problem with going to college when you’re an adult is that it must fit around your existing life that is already in full swing, for better or worse. Of course, there are great benefits to going to school when you have a broad experiential database to relate to your coursework. I believe it makes my classes a hell of a lot more meaningful, judging from my high school performance compared to my college performance. I enjoy my classes much more than I do working. It is a shame the better part of my energy is depleted by the time I reach the Brooklyn College campus. It is even more of a shame that when the day is done– both work, school and the hour long commute back to the other end of Brooklyn, where I am the most happiest and in the company I love the most– I can only muster an hour or so before having to hit the hay in preparation for morning rush hour to do it all again. It is within these cycles, these in-between steps, where one is the most susceptible to conforming and losing their passions, their sharp edges, and begin to operate in a robot-like fashion. This may be a bit dramatic, I know, but I feel it is this gradual process that tames and transforms youth to a more obedient form of preoccupation. It is not your age but how much of your pizzaz you allow to be drained from you by circumstantial obligation. Now I don’t fear growing old; it is only coincidence that my 29th birthday will be here in a couple of weeks. Really. I just resent how much effort it takes to be the gal I know and love, not some stressed-out version constantly on deadlines and structured schedules.

So, I am not thinking anymore about my research proposal due on Saturday. I am enjoying a glass of red wine while I expel these thoughts to you, content that I’ll always have something to say. No matter how tired my body is.