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Fourteen days, and this one is more than halfway gone. Well, if you consider 4:30 pm it's at least halfway over. Funny how we break our lives into little bits and pieces, years, days, hours. For students though it's always the semester. I remember being done with all of this semester stuff once, having interminable years stretch in front of me of nothing but work work work, short one week break and more work, and shuddering in fear and helpless loathing. So here I am, back at the semester, back to broken time that somehow seems to contract as it nears its end.
The massive brain dump comes soon - the two papers and the take-home test on top of three more tests taken next friday, all due at the same time, for all the classes, no breathing, no waiting, no hesitating allowed here please. And don't forget the financial aid applications and the registering for classes and the strangely never ending bureaucracy of the University machine that just wants one more form, just in case.
Not that I don't love it. Don't confuse the moaning with true cries of pain. They're not - they're gentle eeps of exaltation and weary tears of relief, to be pressured and pushed and bullied and tested beyond what the brain thinks it's supposed to allow. Somehow it's never past normal limits though, never past what is possible. It always stays just this side of 'doable' and near enough to achievable that it makes no difference.
However, it means that my less than verbose self may be less verbose than usual. No posts for me. Nothing but a couple of 10 page papers that may turn out to be closer to 20, a take-home test that will probably strain the limits of my phonetic abilities, and a couple of other finals thrown in for good measure. Unless, of course, I procrastinate.
I did, actually, miss this. I know, crazy me.
The massive brain dump comes soon - the two papers and the take-home test on top of three more tests taken next friday, all due at the same time, for all the classes, no breathing, no waiting, no hesitating allowed here please. And don't forget the financial aid applications and the registering for classes and the strangely never ending bureaucracy of the University machine that just wants one more form, just in case.
Not that I don't love it. Don't confuse the moaning with true cries of pain. They're not - they're gentle eeps of exaltation and weary tears of relief, to be pressured and pushed and bullied and tested beyond what the brain thinks it's supposed to allow. Somehow it's never past normal limits though, never past what is possible. It always stays just this side of 'doable' and near enough to achievable that it makes no difference.
However, it means that my less than verbose self may be less verbose than usual. No posts for me. Nothing but a couple of 10 page papers that may turn out to be closer to 20, a take-home test that will probably strain the limits of my phonetic abilities, and a couple of other finals thrown in for good measure. Unless, of course, I procrastinate.
I did, actually, miss this. I know, crazy me.
