I just got out of my first class; it’s a baby class, since undergrads can take it, too. Still, the syllabus lists it as “an intellectual history” of the great debates about colonial Latin America. It should be fun, since it’s trying to understand the debates about Spain’s and Portugal’s rights to colonize the Americas in their own particular contexts, instead of imposing modern judgments on them. We even started out the class with a clip from “The Mission” featuring an actual debate between missionaries and royal officials about the humanity of indigenous peoples and the justification for conquering and enslaving them.
I have to essentially teach the class once—teaching the week’s reading and leading discussion about it. I’ve done this before in an Anthro class, though I had Dr. Everson holding my hand the whole way. We’ll see how it goes with Villella—and he actually pronounces his name “Vil-el-a,” not “Vee-ay-ah” like I’d thought. Dr. Bilinkoff made the same mistake, so I don’t feel quite so bad. All the readings are online, so there’s no books required. Woo-hoo! I spent enough on books as it was, just from the sheer volume of materials. Individual books weren’t that expensive, actually.
Oh, and speaking of professors, Dr. Villella is really cute (but married); Dr. Jones reminds me of Bill Clinton; Dr. O’Brien reminds me of Dr. Weinzierl. Yay!
That was pretty much the least stressful part of the past few weeks. I am an Introvert (not just an introvert, which is essentially an extrovert who got confused). I don’t deal well with new situations, people, or places. I just plopped myself into all three, with no chance of escape; home is fourteen hours away now. Mom can still help with some stuff over the phone, but I just leaped headlong into adulthood. I have to find my own mechanic, doctor, dentist, and grocery stores. Oy God.
The apartment—which is technically a dorm, but the only thing provided by UNCG was the furniture—is now neatly, and cutely, furnished. Only the living room lacks character at this point, but we’ll deal with that soon. Moving in alone nearly killed me; I’m on the sixth floor and knew zero people to come and help until Lauren* got here Sunday. It took an ungodly number of trips up and down the elevators to get everything into the apartment; it was, quite literally, my whole life being hauled up, since after this I plan to get a summer job and an apartment of my own. I didn’t feel quite at home ’til I put up my super-awesome-Walmart-steal flower plaques and set out all the books that would fit into my built-in desk shelves:
Of course, no desk is complete without the requisite pile of books, which is much smaller than I’m used to this semester. It’s probably the lack of Spanish and Psych classes.