The "Working" Script

Most recently, the word "work" has penetrated my life to the point where it feels like a broken record is whispering the devilish word over and over inside my head. There's a preoccupation in my life, not only with what I do, but also with the way my mind keeps track of it all. At times I can't even carry on conversations because my brain focuses on nothing but a calendar of events. Everyday has it's schedule and routine, granted there will be substitutions and last minute changes along the way. But always, every day is crammed to the hour with anything that can fill it. It is filled with work.

Physics will tell me, work is simply force times distance, so long as the force is acting in the direction of the displacement of the object. I can agree with this at the academic level, so long as it means a higher test grade for me. But really, it's just another grade to add to the list, and another way I have to succeed if I am to show some anonymous company I'm worth something, even anything, to them. The academic work is the stuff of impressions, reputations, and presentation. My academic work is, essentially, how I come across to person "X" for some job "Y" in exactly one interview. The fear of losing any qualities is what drives my academic pursuit. I have to succeed.

Then, the financial work creeps up like a chilling wind on the back. I work jobs, usually two, at times three, to maintain some sense of financial security. Security is more of a misnomer here. The minute I pay any sort of tuition, there's this doubt, this hopelessness that all I've done has been reduced to a payment, a check. That everything I work for is taken away, and I'm starting over to work back up for it all over again. This reduction process of build up and let down from semester to semester. The financial work is most taxing and plunges my stomach into knots and my brain into stasis.

The other work, is the fraternal work. The brotherly work of the Alpha Chapter at Emory. Kappa Sigma is holding strong in only its second year on the campus and first full year as a functioning chapter. A crafty executive committee, dedicated chairs, and motivated brothers have propelled us forward another year. Still there is lot to be accomplished, and I hold up part of the responsibility as Grand Master of Ceremonies. Rush and social functions demand my time and energy. The main goals being to bring new, motivated members, and uniting the brothers (old and new) together all the while. It's more doable and appealing then say the MCAT (another type of work altogether which I won't divulge into) but still a daunting task, nonetheless.

Still, there exist more definitions of work. One's I've skipped or ignored simply because my physics test is Wednesday, and I can't spend this entire night writing life stories. But in any case of work for me, there is always this pressure to do better, to do more, or to out perform what's been done before. The pressure that if I fail at any one part, the world comes crashing down like a flimsy hundred story card house. I feel like I'm inside every pocket of the card house holding up the walls with outstrechted arms and legs just right to uphold the perect weight on each wall. Because every point matters, because every dollar matters, and because every relation matters, I must succeed. It's a nicotine craving for success. It's is the very reason why I quit writing and return to my studies.