learned from a good myth? I don’t know. What I do know is that with a little cr ativity, we can feel some connection past library of human experience, as ld by myths, and that helps me to deal th the strangeness of my life hana t little more aplomb. > had brought some handcuffs with him— an apparent novelty back in those days. Sisyphus showed so much interest in the shackles that he was able to convince Hades to demonstrate how they worked—on himself. Once Hades had slapped the cuffs on his own immortal wrists, old Sisyphus locked him in a closet. Things suddenly became very strange in the ancient world without Hades. A sol- dier chopped to bits during an afternoon battle would come walking back to camp in time for dinner. Nobody died. Finally, ‘tuto caught wind of what was happen- i came down, and freed the shackled OY oie Opinions Editor UREN STOTT am a student, and to be a stude know the fate of Sisyphus. Now, Sisyphus was apparently a crafty bastard. Depending on whose ver-_ sion of the myth you believe, he eith where I just can’t seem to see the finish line. So, I’m left thinking about the myth of Sisyphus, and what I can learn about my life from the trials of the ex-king of Corinth. Then it struck me. It’s not so much that the semester never stops—although it doesn’t. It’s not that there always seems to be another semester right around the corner from the end of this one— although there does. It’s not even that once I graduate, the real “uphill battle” will begin in the work-a-day world— although it will. The answer was staring me in the face all along. I had to learn from Sisyphus’ trials and mistakes. And I n the bushes that Fou know what I like about _ mythology? I like the universal P ility of a good myth. ph Campbell or Homer telling, a good myth can be applied i in various ways to suit various sit- uations. Does this applicability stem from some “absolute moral lesson” to be wooed and murdered weary travelers in Corinth—where he was king—or, he tricked the gods with his cunning wit. One tale even tells of how he kidnapped Hades—aka “Death.” Hades had come to claim Sisyphus and take him to the underworld, but Sisyphus wasn’t quite ready to be dead yet. Hades 10° witch it roll back down every time he her marking, and rock up a steep hill, only got near the mountaintop. Think about it: an eternity of carrying a huge boulder uphill, never to know the satisfaction of a aft job completed. And that’s what this — semester has felt like—a freaking eternity come down and free her ass until well Tm ios 2 gone from Douglas. The Disease Rachel Schreyer, OP Contributor never thought I could say it. I never thought I could | say it. But I said it—and it really wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. The twigs crunched in the dark as we strolled through the woods. I felt like a balloon had expanded in my chest. All of Everest was under my feet. Unfortunately, my moment of inflated triumph hissed empty when my First Love replied, “I never intended to go beyond friendship with you. Like, ever.” Given the cold war that had simmered between us the past while, I couldn’t have expected a positive response. Things had gotten out of hand and I wanted to be the mature one to take the first step in clearing things up, at least on my part. So I told him the truth, that I had feel- ings for him. However, I hadn’t expected him to be so callous. I offered him a knife; he stabbed and twisted. That night, my heart had, in a bloody mess, palpitated painfully on that mossy floor to my approximate left. No sound came out of my mouth. I simply nodded with all the dig- nity I could muster and walked away. I don’t even remember if I had bothered to pick up my heart before leaving. It didn’t matter. I suddenly hated that forest and wanted to get out. I had always told myself that I could never tell a guy I liked him for this exact reason. I have henceforth dubbed him “The Disease.” I first met him the summer that I was about to turn 18, more than two years ago. I remember everything—wanting to throw up every single time I was around him, creating all 100 questions on a 100-question survey to assail his email inbox with. (It took hours. What a fucking waste of my time. I could have spent that time...eating...or something. Who wants to know if he’s ever masturbated or not, any- way?!) Writing my first name and his last name over and over and over and over...yup, I honestly thought he was The One. Hovember = 17/2000 The one bizarre phenomenon I could never explain, either, was the nausea. As far as I know, he’s the only guy that’s ever literally triggered my hurling reflex—lI really do start to turn green when I’m near him. He even caught me gagging once and gave me a funny look. I guess that clinches it; we could never be together. Could you just imagine me dashing off with my hand plugged over my mouth in the manner of American-that-overdid-it-at-the- all-you-can-eat-bar, yelling, with a Texan drawl, “Ill be right back!” every single time we got within breathing dis- tance of each other? Thank the good Lord I’m not American. No serious offense intended to Americans or anything, I just take pride in the fact that the average True- North woman is a size 8, while her American counterpart sits at a size 14. S Some of them actually think we Canadians all inhabit our scrawny asses in igloos, eh? There is, by the way, no correlation whatsoever between my somewhat articulated distaste for Americans and the fact that The Disease’s Ex- Girlfriend, who, pissingly enough, has the same name as me—(HOW DARE SHE...wasn’t stealing my man enough?)—is a Star-Spangled Banger. Yup, she lives in the States. And you know what’s weird? ’m pro-Bush. Why, you ask? Our 83-cent dollar is a reason. Who cares if the rest of the world is going to hell? And since Bush can’t run again after his second term, he can afford to address trou- bling issues (think mad cow) more than before. Those damned diseases sure need to be taken care of. Oh, oh, and the fact that The Ex-Girlfriend probably voted Kerry? Yet another reason. Who’s the one laughing now? Ha! Actually, I take that all back. P’ve got a cousin in Manhattan who’s lived through the entire 9-11 nightmare, and, after I probed for her opinion, stated quite emphatically that, “Bush is a scoundrel” and that if he got elected again, “the rest of the world would be doomed.” I guess the rest of the world is doomed. By the way, I’m thinner than her. I meant my cousin. Never mind. The Disease and I were never particularly close, but I suppose that was due to my verbal challengitis around him. You know what I’m talking about. The there’s-suddenly- so-much-chemistry-I-can’t-stand-it pauses. Classic scenario: My watch ticks. He shifts uncomfortably. I can hear the dust settle. I force myself to meet his eye and he quickly looks away. I look away as well and, he looks down. My mind goes blank. I dare to sneak a peek at him and— xzxyt—he ventures to glance at me, too. The UEC (Unintended Eye Contact) sets my heart pounding. There is, naturally, nothing good to talk about. I open my mouth to utter somethinge—anything—and he blurts out a syllable at the exact same moment. A bizarre giggle escapes my lips. The nervous tension gets so thick you can cut it with a knife. Really, at one point, I thought he had feelings for me, too. Maybe I heard wrong and imagined it all—or maybe he really zs a misleading prick—I won’t bore you with the details. I suppose things are never as they seem. Through it all, I prepared for the worst, braved it, and came out stronger. To many people, rejection is an insurmountable summit—and I climbed it. Everybodys got a disease. The point is to face it and move on. DGnEPPPeSs | 7