Monday, November 9th, 2009
Serving as Editor-in-Chief of The Edge is the most glorious pain in the rump I’ve experienced in college. It’s wonderful and awful, inspiring and sleep depriving.
For one, I’m trailing two of the most talented layout designers known to The Edge history. Unable to go backwards in terms of quality, it’s been an adventure trying to learn InDesign well enough not to “look a fool” when the magazine comes out. On the other hand, it would be nice if I could just get the magazine out.
From battling the technology that allows my staff access to our server in the business school, to dealing with people who said they’d done things they haven’t, straight to trying to figure out how the heck to sell advertisements without knowing design specifications, I have been one tense, cranky, time bomb of a person to be around. Learning to use Adobe Creative Suite has been great fun, and I know I’ll use it later in life. Having to give someone the long-and-short-of-it is not my favorite thing, and causes me to wonder why, why, why I put myself through it–voluntarily!
On top of that, it seems that no one has an opinion about what we should write about until after it’s already half way finished. The advice I got in the beginning of production is different from the feedback I’m getting now, and the Dean, advisor, exec team, Edge staff and students all have varying opinions of what purpose The Edge should serve. At some point, I’m going to have to plug my ears to get a vision and produce results with which I can live.
I’m not sure what I’m doing after graduation or if any of this lost sleep will even pay off, but it’s been (and continues to be) a heckuvan experience alright.
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Friday, October 30th, 2009
Ugh! I just want to hide today.
I am not working with the school district anymore, and while that is definitely a good thing, I have the most troubling dreams that keep me from feeling rested, no matter how much I sleep. The themes all revolve around the precious child I was responsible for and the fact that I won’t know or be a part of how he progresses or grows in the future. If I know the hope in every person to grow and change, I just feel paralyzed with concern for this 4 year old who is already having such a hard start to life.
And that’s just the start of my worries. (more…)
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Monday, October 26th, 2009
I have a friend who’s 4 years old and his struggles pierce my heart and haunt my dreams.
I tell him, “Here at school, we walk in the halls, not run.”
He looks up at me, wild eyed and full of energy, screaming, “BUT I WANT TO RUN!” And off he goes.
I tell him, “We don’t look around the breakfast room. Eat quickly! We have important things to do in the classroom.” His fingers are magnetized to the ones of his own reflection in windows, and his gaze wanders every which way, studying children whose nametages say ’Third’ and ‘FranKayla’. He touches their hair, then their clothes, then laughs out loud when they look at him in disgust.
I correct him, directing his flailing legs to the floor and his busy eyes forward. “Sit still,” I tell him. “Look at what’s in front of you. Stay in the moment.”
He dreams, devising reasons for all of the colors and fabrics and textures around him. He presses my sweater to his face, then looks at me in innocence before his head confuses his hands and causes them to slap me away. For five minutes–sometimes ten, sometimes a whole hour–he is gone.
I am tired.
He bites another student, then me. It’s important that we call his mother, but with a new child in her arms, she’s crying in Spanish when she gets to the school. Trim, her appearance tells me that she has been on the “chase ’big A’ down the halls” exercise regime for longer than I have. Sullen eyes tell me she has lost more sleep and cried more tears. There is nothing to say to a woman whose grief over diverted dreams I am living with just 40 hours a week. The other 128 are hers. If I feel responsible for his behavior, she takes credit for his life.
I want to comfort her, even as her son’s arms are crossed in front of him and held down by the strength of my forearms. My stomach churns and I hear myself asking him, in direct tones, to apologize so I can say, “I forgive you.” He knows what my words mean; he speaks perfect Spanish and English, and can switch between the two with the effortless grace of a bilingual adult. But he doesn’t understand.
He says, “No, never! Never, never, never forever! No!” I don’t understand him. He’s shouting into open classroom doors and my eyes, but the thick glaze over his eyeballs lets me know he doesn’t see me. His anger carries him away.
I hold him, squeezing his arms and legs as tight as I can without bruising him. I have to protect myself from a 4 year old 1/3 of my weight, who struggles to reach my hip.
His struggle exhausts him, then he hugs me, giving me a glimpse of the relationship that’s possible between us.
No matter how far he runs, it is my responsibility to catch him. Still, I struggle to walk away.
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Wednesday, April 9th, 2008
Maybe you’re doing a business internship this summer or studying abroad. Maybe you’re a senior with big plans for your future career. Or maybe you’re a freshman still weighing all your options. What ever your story is—we’d like to hear it.
Mays Business School is now hiring bloggers for the summer and fall. This is a paid position, and all you have to do is post one blog per week about your life as a Mays student. Interested? Email Chrystal Houston (chrystal.houston@tamu.edu) for more information.
To see posts from our current bloggers, explore the archives using the links to your right.
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