There’s nothing like the lack of supervision, combined with a healthy workload, to help me realize how I work best. I’ve already taken great joy in flouting virtually every study habit I’ve ever been told about, like not listening to music with lyrics, or working at my desk instead of on the dinner table (although due to a lack of adequate cash flow for furniture, the two are the same as often as not). When better than college to twiddle with different ways to tool in search of the optimal learning method?
Already I’ve learned that my bunk has a strange intelligence-enhancing aura that makes psets easier (or, if I fall asleep, at least more relaxing). I’ve found my columns seem to turn out better when I write them on something other than the computer — legal pads, the backs of envelopes not occupied by impromptu calculations, the abdomens of squirrels passing by — it doesn’t much matter so long as I’m not typing it first. My writing has improved considerably since I discovered that little gem, but I think it’s making my laptop jealous.
I honestly can’t explain why certain study habits are so helpful when they seem to be completely anti-productive, like listening to “Lonesome Loser” while missing a party to do chemistry homework. Actually, so long as it works, I’m really not inclined to ask too many questions, lest my brain decides to kick the irony up a notch and decree that I can’t do integration by parts unless “Separate” by Ryanhood is playing in the background.
I have to admit, though, I am a little curious as to just how bizarre some study habits might get. Could there be someone out there who can’t work unless they’re wearing brown tube socks with little green hearts that glow in the dork … I mean, dark? Or is there perhaps an art history major out there who manages to triple his grade point average simply by lopping off his left ear?
I can’t think of a single explanation for the effectiveness of these unorthodox study methods. It’s possible that my unnatural ability to think more clearly in close proximity to my bed is actually a strange (and lame) superpower. If that were the case, with time and training, I could use it to become an even more strange superhero, drawing all the wisdom of the universe from a security blanket wired into my brain.
Or not. Melodramatic pronouncements, unfortunately, only go so far in real life. Besides, even if I did become a bedding-based vigilante, one can only tolerate so many double entendres using the term “pillow talk.” Plus, wearing a cape with spandex pajamas has been outdated since Elvis.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be going now. Writing this has taken up all of my exposed skin and almost all of my toilet paper, and at least a few squares left over would be nice by the end of the article. I’ve got a physics assignment that requires my attention, so if you need me … I’ll be in my bunk.