The Cornell Daily Sun (https://cornellsun.com/tag/work/)
I was thinking about this. I work and work and work, accomplish milestones and finish projects for this job — yet, so much of the time it leaves me feeling listless. How come? Looking back on it, I’ve gotten a lot done, I’ve implemented changes, and arguably some of them have been successes, but not once have I considered that progress until now.
Sometimes, I would look at people who could take fancy trips for spring break, not having a single concern when taking out their debit card, and feel a twinge of jealousy.
and saps you of your potent self-restraint. And when you lie feeble on the ground, conquered by your own fleshly impulses, I will probably be right next to you, in the exact same situation.
The local restaurant in Pennsylvania where I worked was easily defined by seasons. The year started off in a barren winter. The garden beds out front were hugged in snow, the thermostat dropped low and customers, especially after a holiday shopping spree, were scarce. I’d find myself staring at the clock, willing it to chime closing time, 2:00 p.m. Winters were scarce of many things: Fresh food, warmth, entertainment, customers and, most importantly, tips. I never liked winters in the restaurant very much.
Podcast lovers need look no further: In late October, the School of Industrial and Labor Relations dean, Alex Colvin, launched a podcast titled “WORK! Exploring the Future of Work, Labor and Employment.” In each episode, Colvin hosts a discussion with a guest on interesting topics relating to labor.
After Cornell’s most recent snow day, many employees express uncertainty about their responsibility to show up for work amid inclement weather conditions at Wednesday’s Employee Assembly meeting.
Pride fueled my strut out of Morrill 111. With a finished problem set in hand and bags under my eyes, I had just pulled off my first homework all-nighter. I celebrated the occasion with a hike down the Slope and a West campus breakfast. After all, while my fellow classmates slept, I worked. Impressed and gratified for completing this seemingly underground Cornellian rite of passage, I would heroically describe my feat barely fighting back a smile — only to resign to collapsing eyelids later that morning.
Oh boy, it’s that time of year! The familiar cacophony of sniffles and coughs echoes throughout each lecture hall, derailing my focus as I attempt to complete my 427th level of Candy Crush. Most of my floormates, who can typically be found occupying the lounge at 1 a.m. with CTB and chemistry textbooks, are now cooped up in their rooms, waiting for their illnesses to subside. Cornell University — filled to the brim with bustling, sleep-deprived students — has warped into a Petri dish of sickness and disease. But that’s not even the worst of it.
I never anticipated that my happiness in college would be so directly correlated to my major. In hindsight, it seems obvious, but I never really believed the whole “if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life” mantra. I figured that I could get away with being mildly interested in my major and rest assured that I’d get a decent job that would make me enough money to fulfill me. But as anyone who has changed their major multiple times will tell you, that certainly isn’t the case. No matter how much I tried to convince myself that studying biology for a measly four years of my life couldn’t be that bad, I was miserable in every class.
I woke up this morning in cold sweat from a dream that I slept through a prelim. Before I had a chance to reassure myself that it was a Monday and it was too early in the day to be sweating, I glanced at the 12 messages that needed responses on my phone, thought of the reading that I had to complete for my 10:10 class, and then felt the pile of laundry that has been sitting at the foot of my bed for the past week. I glanced at the date, only to realize that I had to begin racking my brain for an idea to write about for this column, and then noted the time only to realize that I had a meeting on campus in 15 minutes. As I rushed to try to pop a pimple under my nose and brush my teeth before I headed out the door, it dawned on me: Do I even have time to think? It was a question I asked myself several times last week each time I received a message from the University.