Epic. Fail.

If you've talked to me in the last day or two (or if your Facebook homepage has given you any insight into my "status," aka "life," over said time period), you are most likely aware that I am now officially an epic failure. At life. Yeah.

Ok, so here at Indiana Wesleyan there is this lovely little class known affectionally as Fine Arts (think Art and Music Appreciation) that is a general education requirement for any and all students (I tried getting out of it by telling them I was morally opposed to looking at sculptures of naked people, but I didn't get very far). This course is notorious for being tough, although I suppose it really depends on the teacher. Anyways, I am in the art section, and we had our first test this last Tuesday. Being the nerd that I am, I studied. Hard. I studied for hours for this test, because I knew that it would most likely be hard, that's just the way it is. So Tuesday morning roles around, the class is at 9:25. I get up shortly after 7 and study more. Go to class; I'm nervous, but hey, I studied my tail off, and I'm generally a pretty good test-taker so I was determined to get through it. My prof hands out the test, and as the minutes go by, you can just feel the aura of disbelief, of shock, frustration, and despair descend over the classroom as we realize that we are taking an impossibly hard test. It was ridiculous. Yes, he had given us a study guide, but you wanna know how much good that study did? NOTTA! It was worthless, that's what. Know how much good all my hours of studying did? NONE! That was the most ridiculously impossible test I have ever seen, totally unfair (in my opinion). Afterward we had to go back into class to listen to him lecture some more; pretty sure I was giving him death glares the whole time.. and if you've ever received a death glare from me, well, actually you'd probably no longer be living, so never mind.

All right, since I know none of you started reading this with the intention of listening to me gripe and complain about my epic failure, so I will have pity and switch gears. 

So it snowed like six feet today, no joke. Besides being blinded as I walked to my 8:55 class by the massive snowflakes descending from the sky, I pretty much almost got ran over by the ambitious snow removal guys in their little tractors at least three different times. As cold as it was outside, I actually became quite contemplative. Now, the snow guys in their mini bulldozers can't do everything; sometimes, you're going to have to get the bottom of your jeans and possibly your socks wet and step in a little bit of snow (like when you're stepping from the sidewalk to the street, for example). If I waited for them to get rid of all that nasty white fluffy stuff, I would never have made it to the student center today, or 2/3 of my classes for that matter. It made me realize something:

For every great path in the snow, someone had to get their jeans wet and walk through it first.

I respect those kind of people, not just the ones that are willing to tramp through six inches of snow so the rest of us can carefully step in their footprints, but those who aren't afraid to go it alone, to get their feet wet while everyone else sticks to the familiar, the nicely worn path that presents little discomfort and requires little guts.

I want to be one of those.

And I'm over my epic failingness, by the way. I have accepted it, will take my grade as it comes, and will think happy thoughts instead of death glaring at my professor..who really is a pretty nice guy..