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Thank you so much for the card, Rocky!
Wow, I did not even realise it was so late already. There were the holidays, and then there was this Essay, and then, suddenly, there was this huge parcel my parents sent us.
I really ought to move out or go abroad for a year more often. Especially my father is much nicer since I left. They put in Easter bunnies, some Easter decoration, some Cheese, some Cappuccino (yummm...), some bread, some chocolate eggs - so lovely!
And a picture of my cat - I miss him terribly. Once I'm home, he will become the most documentated cat in the world. He is so sweet I just HAVE to take pictures of him.
Handed in the worst Essay ever written - well, by me, at any rate - for Literature today. A comparison of the Role of the Poet and Poetic Identity in Coleridge's, Wordsworth's and Shelley's writing - as though it was possible to do that in 1,500 words...! It was so much fun reading their texts I somehow had difficulties with writing the actual essay and found myself sitting there lost in one or the other lecture by Coleridge (or other things quite often instead of going quote-hunting for my essay. I guess it's good when things have that effect, but somehow, I would have preferred being able to compile a reasonable amount of good examples, pick out the things I need, then sleep over it and then write a well-structured essay instead of trying to crush in all I find interesting on the spur of the moment. I guess they will tell me it lacks structure. Soddit, it was so much fun writing it that doesn't even matter.
Apart from that, the AUT are on strike here, which means that some of our examiners will be banned from doing any correction. In some departments, that is. I am not sure whether the Literature people are part of that, but I have definitely had enough of industrial actions. In Russian, our teacher is banned from giving back or correcting our work until the end of a period whose end nobody has agreed on yet. Great.
I guess I'll toddle off home now and read that article I have found in my search for secondary literature - although it had nothing to do with them (it's on Heidegger). Well, and then I have to find something yummy to put into the salad and something else to go with the salad.
Then, I guess I take some time off to do some work on a short story I have started around eight years ago and which has turned out a novel rather than a short story, is terrible but has too much of myself in it to throw it away, too many characters I love and too many places I love. Story? Plot? Pshaw.
Wow, I did not even realise it was so late already. There were the holidays, and then there was this Essay, and then, suddenly, there was this huge parcel my parents sent us.
I really ought to move out or go abroad for a year more often. Especially my father is much nicer since I left. They put in Easter bunnies, some Easter decoration, some Cheese, some Cappuccino (yummm...), some bread, some chocolate eggs - so lovely!
And a picture of my cat - I miss him terribly. Once I'm home, he will become the most documentated cat in the world. He is so sweet I just HAVE to take pictures of him.
Handed in the worst Essay ever written - well, by me, at any rate - for Literature today. A comparison of the Role of the Poet and Poetic Identity in Coleridge's, Wordsworth's and Shelley's writing - as though it was possible to do that in 1,500 words...! It was so much fun reading their texts I somehow had difficulties with writing the actual essay and found myself sitting there lost in one or the other lecture by Coleridge (or other things quite often instead of going quote-hunting for my essay. I guess it's good when things have that effect, but somehow, I would have preferred being able to compile a reasonable amount of good examples, pick out the things I need, then sleep over it and then write a well-structured essay instead of trying to crush in all I find interesting on the spur of the moment. I guess they will tell me it lacks structure. Soddit, it was so much fun writing it that doesn't even matter.
Apart from that, the AUT are on strike here, which means that some of our examiners will be banned from doing any correction. In some departments, that is. I am not sure whether the Literature people are part of that, but I have definitely had enough of industrial actions. In Russian, our teacher is banned from giving back or correcting our work until the end of a period whose end nobody has agreed on yet. Great.
I guess I'll toddle off home now and read that article I have found in my search for secondary literature - although it had nothing to do with them (it's on Heidegger). Well, and then I have to find something yummy to put into the salad and something else to go with the salad.
Then, I guess I take some time off to do some work on a short story I have started around eight years ago and which has turned out a novel rather than a short story, is terrible but has too much of myself in it to throw it away, too many characters I love and too many places I love. Story? Plot? Pshaw.
