So, I finally [FINALLY] started classes up at BYU Provo. After spending the last three weeks with my family in Florida, and then coming home to my wonderful boyfriend Marcus, you can say that I wasn't exactly chipper about starting on Tuesday at 8 a.m; but I did it. Thank goodness that I only have that class twice a week.
My weekly Schedule is as follows:
Monday:
2:00-2:50; Literary Interpretation
3:00-4:15; Book of Mormon
Tuesday:
8:00-9:15; Biology 100
9:30-10:45; Marriage and Family
3:00-4:15; Writing Honors
Wednesday:
Same as Monday
Thursday:
Same as Tuesday
Friday:
2:00-2:50; Literary Interpretation
Yupp, that's about it. I have these massive blocks of free time still, but I figure once I get into the swing of classes and were start covering more than the class syllabus, I'll spend that free time in the Library doing homework, studying, freaking out, etc.
So Tuesday, I woke up bright and early and headed up to campus, stopping by Marcus' on the way [he had Accounting at 8:00]. Once I was settled into the large lecturing room, I pulled out my notebook and awaited the horror of my first college class. To my surprise [and great relief] it never came. Biology didn't seem that bad [perhaps a bit challenging] and the professor kept us laughing.
With one down and three more to go, I trekked over to the JFSB where I attended a much smaller class. Only thirty of so students were in the room with me as we began going over my Marriage and Family class syllabus. It was nice, and I happened to meet a relative of the Jupiter ward's Bishop [small world].
Afterwards I met Marcus for lunch and attended his religion class before I attended my final class of the day: Writing. This was probably one of the classes I was most nervous about because a) it was an honor class, and b) come on: the title says it all. Although I absolutely adore nothing more than a good topic to write on and on about, I knew this class would give me essays galore; however, the one thing I was not nervous about was the teacher.
I used ‘ratemyprofessor.com’ to find my teachers for this semester, and he had received remarkable remarks [haha]. These reviews were spot on. Though the class may end up bringing me more than I bargained for, I’m hoping it improves my writing ability.
I walked into an empty classroom, followed by a boy who looked about my age. Immediately I began to worry if I was in the right place; after all, class started in five minutes. I turned around to my fellow classmate and posed the question that had previously entered my mind. To my relief, he replied that he was here for the same class, and then asked if he could sit next to me. I agreed and soon learned that not only was he a freshman as well, but he also lived on the same floor in Helaman Halls as one of my closest friends, Kendl.
So, I made my first friend of the New Year, and particularly enjoyed the rest of class [where I learned that I would be writing an 8-10 page personal narrative].
As I waved good-bye to Landon [my new friend], I walked up to the Wilkinson where I would spend an hour searching frantically among a mass of rabid college students for my books, before waiting another hour in a line that had seven or so switchbacks and wrapped almost halfway around the store while I held all 400 pounds of my purchases in a dinky little blue, plastic basket [or, at least, it felt that way].
Afterwards, I headed back home with Marcus and attempted to do what little homework my mind would allow. Unfortunately it didn’t last long, and we were soon watching The Notebook [I should have known I would get nothing done].
Where I would normally feel guilt, I felt… well nothing. My homework wasn’t due for another two days.
Tuesday was good too. I didn’t have class until 2:00, but I woke up at 6:00 to go to the gym with Marcus and Spencer. Now, going to the gym for these two means heavy lifting, working on their chest, arms, etc, and looking like studs. You know, the usually. For me, going to the gym means getting haphazardly onto the treadmill, spending ten minutes trying to figure out how it turns on before having Marcus do it, speed walking at a pace of 3.5, feeling good about myself, watching the girl next to me jog at a constant 6.5, raising the speed to 4.7, feeling good for three minutes, looking like an idiot because I can’t even stay at 4.5 for five minutes, slowing it back down to 3.0, speed walking while I catch my breath, feeling like an idiot because my arm accidentally hit the emergency stop knob, repeating these few steps for thirty minutes, giving up, moving to the elliptical and envying the girl who stays at a constant 6.5 speed for the rest of the 45 minutes I’m there.
When I finally stumbled into my apartment, I’m exhausted and wanting nothing more than a good shower. I take one, and find that I still have 2 hours to kill until I meet Kendl for lunch, so I watched some TV and took a nap.
After lunch, I had Lit Interp at 2:00, which seems like it will be an extremely difficult, yet enjoyable class. I think I may be the only freshman in there, however.
The class went by fast, and I press onward to Book of Mormon at 3:00, where I came right before the starting time and had to be the annoying late girl who squeezed past everyone in the isle so I could sit in the middle of the row with two empty seats on either side of me. I stared at the screen where and artistic video played of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing ‘Praise to the Man’.
When that ended I sat and enjoyed the occasional joke thrown out by my BOM teacher. He seemed pretty likeable and I figured the class would end up being a breeze.
I took BOM 121 in Idaho, but I figured I’d take it again because I learned absolutely NOTHING. We probably spent most of that semester talking about the ‘feelings’ we experienced during our readings. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great to discuss inspiration felt and received during reading the scriptures, just not when it leads to and hour long discussion on Polygamy and other unrelated topics, causing us to have less than ten minutes left to discuss what actually took place in our reading.
Marcus had work that night, so I went home and watched Ghost Hunters with my new roommate, Kelli. She’s a freshman too, but attends a different aesthetics school down the street. I didn’t get around to doing my reading and revising until 8 or 9. Luckily, I ended up in bed at ten so I could wake up at 6 a.m this morning for Biology.
Now, I’m sitting in front of my writing class, waiting for it to start. Another 20 or so minutes and it will. Today we’re reading our ‘introductions’ or, what would be our introduction to our autobiography. He told us that most don’t start with birth, but rather some type of significant moment in the subject’s life. I thought about it for a moment, and figured that my birth was pretty significant, so I decided to defy the odds and start there. This is what I came up with:
“On the evening of April 27, 1992, my father awoke to the sounds of my mother crying out. The sight of her lying there, clutching her giant stomach in pain sent him flying into action. In less than ten minutes, he was dressed and helping my mother into the car as she continued to moan in agony. As soon as my father was buckled in, he began his race against the clock.
It seemed like an eternity before the hospital finally came into view, but by that time, my mother’s sobs had quieted. With only half a mile to go, my mother turned to my father and spoke.
“Mark, the pain’s gone. It was a false alarm,” she said, hand still resting on her stomach.
“No, our baby’s being born tonight,” he replied, before launching into an explanation.
My father told my mother that prior to her awake, he experienced a dream in which a pillar of light came down from the sky and rested on my mother’s stomach. As he watched in awe, a smaller, but brighter ball of light traveled within the pillar until it rested inside of my mother’s stomach. He knew then that tonight was the night.
The second my father finished his story, the contractions started again, and my mother screamed out.
“Mark, you’re right!” She exclaimed, grabbing his arm, “Get me to the hospital NOW!”
He nodded, hit the gas, and on April 28, at 8:30 a.m, I was born.
A healthy and happy baby, I began my life in West Palm Beach, Florida under the loving guidance of Mark and Heidi Gleason. At age three, I welcomed my little brother, Mitchell, into the world, eager to show mommy and daddy what a good big sissy I could be. Mitchell and I were as close as two siblings could be over the next few years, and in January of 2000, we welcomed our third and final addition, Sophia, to the family.
It wasn’t long after, that my family waved good-bye to the bustling city of West Palm Beach and moved northward to settle first in the City of Stuart, and then finally in the small town of Jensen Beach, Florida. It was here that I would spend majority of my childhood, and teenage years, before jetting off to Provo, Utah where I would finally begin a life of my own.”
It’s okay, I guess. I figure I could do substantially better, but I figure it’ll be sufficient enough for introducing myself to the class.
That’s about it for now. Tonight I’m having date night [yeahhhh!] since Marcus will be working Friday and Saturday. I swear his job is out to keep us from ever seeing each other. I’ll just have to deal with it.
-xo Bailey
