|
Urf. It's midnight, the night before my two written finals. It has been a sort of comedy of errors today, trying to study. First I fell asleep while re-reading The Tempest. When I woke up, I found we had no power. That was at 8 PM. Greg and I left the house to go out to dinner. I studied at the table. We called the house after dinner; the answering machine didn't pick up. Still no power. We went to Borders for an hour (til they closed); I studied there. Called the house again: still no machine. We went to Greg's office, where I studied for another hour (well, sort of studied, sort of checked email and read out loud to him while he was trying to grade exams). Called the house again; power was back on. And here I am. I just cleaned up the draft of my Sherman Alexie paper because Dr. Joe said he'd take another look at it. It's not done, because of the stupid power outage, but it's 2/3 done - enough for more comments. It's not due til Thursday, so I should be fine - I have tomorrow night and all day Wednesday to finish. After tomorrow, I'm done with finals. Shakespeare first thing in the morning - Hamlet and Lear and The Tempest. I think I've guessed the two essay questions (I don't know what else they could be except what I've come up with - one on the balance of power between parents and children; one on the nature motif) so I should be fine. Brit Lit two hours later; Hardy and Housman, Thomas and Keats, Arnold and Auden, Larkin, Walcott, Hughes, "The Dead" and "To Room Nineteen" and "Daughters of the Late Colonel" and Equus and trying to figure out the freaking difference between Modernism and Postmodernism (which people on the 'net seem to call PoMo, but I refuse). Obscurity. Existentialism. Romantic Rage. Just a few things to remember. Luckily I have those two hours to forget all about old Bill and concentrate on the later Brits instead - my last contact with this class that I have loved so wholeheartedly, the class that reawakened the love for literature I'd lost years back. (Thirty years old, and depressed because an undergraduate survey course is over. That tells you how good the class was, doesn't it?) I feel much better about finals, though, since I got back my US Lit take-home exam: 100. One hundred percent, baby! Perfection in sixteen pages. I knew Chrissy and I wrote the best damn Prufrock essay in the history of undergrad. It's hard not to get cocky when you get a freaking one hundred percent from a professor who is a difficult tester and very hard on papers. I'm totally stalling from studying, and am going to go shove more Shakespearean quotes in my poor tired widdle head. 'Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed, you know. (Wait. Does that mean I should study, or shouldn't study? Is it better to be weeded or unweeded? See how tired I am?) |