malady
It's a toss-up, really. Option 1: I have some sort of weird virusy thing that is feeding on unspecified portions of my innards in order to make me feel perpetually exhausted, queasy and depressed. Option 2: the outcome of the Jacob Zuma trial, with its attendant misogyny, racism, corruption, bent politics, cultural power-trippiness, narcissism, self-aggrandisement, moral decay and hysterical Zuma-supporters who are either blind, deaf, dumb, stupid, basically depraved or really well paid, has sparked a downward spiral into disgust, cynicism and existential angst. (Not to mention verbosity). Currently I am possessed of a strong desire to flee the country, now. I do not want this man for my deputy president, and the potential spectacle of his political shenanigans to secure the presidency is giving me nausea-inducing Zimbabwe flashbacks.
I could have sworn the lecture I gave this morning was deeply incoherent, given the current medico-political state of me. The brain-wheels are tending to spin without actually engaging, which leads to long pauses in the middle of sentences while I try to remember what I was saying, where I am or why the room is filled with blank-faced teenagers looking traumatised. (Rather explicit online sex scene from Closer. Just wait until they hit the Weasleycest, heh). Lara, exerting inadvertant quality control while gate-crashing my lectures in order to score random Spike clips, assures me that I made perfect sense, however, which is a relief. (She was also able to incidentally rescue me from the usual incompetent ironies of the video equipment people: TV, check, DVD player, check, all connections working, check, remote, check, except it's for the wrong machine so there is no way to navigate the DVD menus. The students are becoming innured to the spectacle of their lecturer gently beating her head against the wall.)
I am very tired, and, despite the fact that it's 9pm and I have a load of marking to do, I am going to bed. I couldn't summon enough mental energy to do any more than drool gently on the scripts, anyway.
I could have sworn the lecture I gave this morning was deeply incoherent, given the current medico-political state of me. The brain-wheels are tending to spin without actually engaging, which leads to long pauses in the middle of sentences while I try to remember what I was saying, where I am or why the room is filled with blank-faced teenagers looking traumatised. (Rather explicit online sex scene from Closer. Just wait until they hit the Weasleycest, heh). Lara, exerting inadvertant quality control while gate-crashing my lectures in order to score random Spike clips, assures me that I made perfect sense, however, which is a relief. (She was also able to incidentally rescue me from the usual incompetent ironies of the video equipment people: TV, check, DVD player, check, all connections working, check, remote, check, except it's for the wrong machine so there is no way to navigate the DVD menus. The students are becoming innured to the spectacle of their lecturer gently beating her head against the wall.)
I am very tired, and, despite the fact that it's 9pm and I have a load of marking to do, I am going to bed. I couldn't summon enough mental energy to do any more than drool gently on the scripts, anyway.