Work

"Doing hard work!" The chorus rang out several times and struck a chord with me despite the medium presenting it. Don't get me wrong, I don't think a high school play is in any way a "lesser" medium for imparting universal truths than other forms of theater or art, but I would not give myself the credit of having been keen enough to pick up on such a personal epiphany during a three hour blitz of song, dance and poofy hair in a theatrical reinterpretation of the 80s hit movie Fame; put on by my sister's high school. Yet here I am, reflecting on that Sunday afternoon where the sight of leg warmers and giant-necked sweatshirts somehow reminded me of the odd paradox of work: the amount of work we have to do and the amount of work we get done relate not to each other, but to our perception of each.

I spent an entire day composing an essay for my German class, something that should have taken two hours, max. However, when I get to a class early and read three pages of a thirty page story that is due tomorrow and convince myself I have gotten a good start; I usually cruise through the rest of the tale, no problem. Making mountains out of molehills is nothing new, but the idea we can make molehills out of mountains; there's an idea I can take to the travelling-self-empowerment-seminar bank.

Now if I could only convince myself that three lines of an english essay is a "sizable starting portion" and go finish it up in time to do something infinitely less constructive and entirely more fun.