Oxonian Anecdotes: Eating Raw Oatmeal

The semester was drawing to a close and my last essay discussing the formation of church doctrine in the sixth century was practically written. It wasn’t actually written at all, but a very thorough outline sat before me on the desk beside my laptop. “This will write itself,” I thought, anxious to feel the relief and freedom from at least one tutorial. It was 9:00 a.m. I went downstairs to eat some breakfast before conquering St. Augustine. As usual, the happenings in the kitchen continued, for quite a long time, to be more appealing than writing my paper. By the time I returned to my desk it was 10:30 a.m. “No problem,” I reassured myself. “I have all day and last week I wrote that paper for Victorian literature in less than three hours. This will be easy.” I found ways to justify not writing that first paragraph. I checked my email, wrote some emails, found someone from home to chat with on my webcam, all the while, the minutes slipping away. When I could no longer find anything at least arguably productive to do, and after a few games of Tetris, it was almost noon.

“I think I would feel better if I took a shower,” I reasoned. “It will wake me up and then I could definitely write this paper in no time.” I carried my things to the shower, leaving the blank computer screen behind me. It may have been an unusually long shower, I wasn’t really paying attention, but I did certainly take my time picking out clothes, drying my hair, putting on makeup, though I knew I would most likely not leave the house that day. It was 1:30 p.m. before I looked in the mirror, finding nothing else that could be done. I looked at the clock and decided that it was time for lunch. Much like breakfast, and every other meal in The Vines, it can take as long as one allows. I allowed it to take two hours, convincing myself that it was most important for me to spend time with these people who, before long, I might never see again. This was true, but so would be my chagrin if I arrived at my tutorial without an essay.

The clock in the lower right hand corner of my computer screen said 3:27 p.m.. How had I let it get that late without doing anything? Frustrated with myself, I read the outline again. It was a good outline. My fingers were poised over the worn keys of the computer; I absolutely needed to begin. Not one finger moved. “What is wrong with me?! I have done this a thousand times. I have all the information I need, more even. I just need to write the paper!” I couldn’t do it. I sat at that desk for half an hour just staring at the screen. This was bad. Not only was it almost 4:30 p.m. and I hadn’t written a single word, but dwelling on that fact was causing anxiety and frustration to further paralyze me. I spent the next couple of hours talking to different people around the house, complaining that I had run face first into writers block and was utterly unable to find my way around it. I was desperate.

When it came time to eat dinner, I searched my shelf and found only raw oatmeal and honey. I had nothing in the fridge. Instead of cooking the small amount of oatmeal I had left, I felt satisfied to sit at the table and eat it raw with the honey. I laid my head on the table as I ate, completing the picture of a poor desperate student in the midst of an essay crisis. The table was hard beneath my head, and the tough oatmeal sat in my mouth like cud, but I was almost enjoying it, wallowing in this terrible woe that had befallen me. People offered me food, but I refused, insisting that I liked what I was eating but really enjoying the role of martyr for overwhelmed students everywhere.

This academic roadblock is not what makes this story worth telling; students endure these everyday. It is how I was pulled from the depths of despair and placed into one of the most memorable nights spent at The Vines that is significant. I was perfectly content to pass the evening with my head on the table, mouth full of raw oatmeal, teetering on the brink of insanity, but that’s not what happened. I was saved, not by anything extraordinary or earth-shattering, but saved nonetheless. My good friend Bryce convinced me to walk to the grocery store with him. As soon as I felt the cold, hard pavement under my thin-soled shoes I realized that I hadn’t been outside in over twenty-four hours. No wonder I was approaching a nervous breakdown.

It was a long walk to the store, but I enjoyed each of the chilled moments. They revitalized me. I bought some food at the grocery store and even decided to take a break from the sugar-free diet I had recently adopted in an attempt to combat insomnia and lack of focus. It had, after all, not done me much good on that particular day. We found something called a “holiday Yule log,” which was essentially a chocolate cake in the shape of a log. “The Vines could use a little Christmas spirit,” we decided, and so we bought it, rented a movie from the ever-dependable Blockbuster, and then journeyed back home. I had put the essay out of my head. It was not going to be written that night and that was okay. I shared a Yule log with my friends, even sang “Good King Wenceslas” as it was opened, and too many of us piled on one couch to watch our movie.

This may not seem like any sort of remarkable story, but I was reminded of something that night and every night thereafter. In the midst of my tendency toward devout independence and self-sufficiency, I had forgotten something very important - the value of people. I needed people that night. I need people every day. There was no way I was going to write that paper, and it was even more unlikely that I would be able to save myself from the resulting rut. In the midst of a terrible day, I had reluctantly allowed someone to meet my growing need for fellowship. Why had it taken so long and why had I not sought out the help that would rescue me? I know that not needing anyone is almost a modern virtue, but it makes for a lonely lifestyle. In fact, I would say that living life without admitting your need for people is almost like eating raw oatmeal. Having that need met is more like eating chocolate cake.