Papers

The e-mail came, wow. A note from the English Lit department. Listening to Nickle Creek, and thinking of myself as a doubting Thomas, I opened the letter. I had been chosen to present a paper at the BYU lit conference. Congratulations it said, and good luck. Open mouthed and ecstatic, I had decided that my career had begun. A shock...GREAT--i was off, my papers, my time, my thoughts, were worth something. Someone had read it; and cared. With this rush of confidence I wrote another, submitted it to a real presentation (not a collegiate one) with professors, the true 'intellects,' and waited. There, in the inbox was a small note from the Professor in charge. I opened the e-mail and, once again, it said that I was chosen to read and present my paper. The feeling of power, and success, made my feet come off the floor and swing--a physical manifestation of what my soul was doing. I had the conference presentation on my resume for graduate schools, I was going somewhere. Now on to being published...

Well, as with all acceptances, the day comes when you are expected to actually deliver. So, as i stepped into the oval, cramped room with a very limited amount of people, mostly the friends and family who would have come to anything, I realized what I was doing. I read the paper, and others read theirs, and it was over. All the excitement, all the fulfilled academic goals, were finished. And with that, I realized that I have never been more bored in my life. No truly, think of sitting in a room, staring at cardboard--not the interesting, worn, weathered, and story telling type of cardboard--but the new box from fedex, that is just a product of destroyed trees and commerce. So there you are in a room staring...at a box of cardboard. That's what the presentation was like. And it meant very little.

So now, as I sit thinking about a paper that I have to present to professors from different colleges, I can't help but think that what I will be doing is spending time on a paper that I'm not entirely convinced I believe in. Yet, the paper is so politically correct that it would be an injustice to not write about it during four year period where the democrats own e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e.

So I sit, contemplating on a lifestyle of professors who sit, discuss, and do very little to practically influence peoples lives and I am reminded that I am glad I am becoming a high school teacher.

Thanks to the friends/family that came and sat through a very boring moment in my life.