(no subject)
Once again, it's been a while. Not a very long while of course but the first week of school is over (if three days can be a week).
I already dropped a class. Actually, I think maybe it's the first time I've dropped a class in my college career, so it's about time.
I accidentally signed up for an english senior seminar that focused on the Apocalypse (aka Biblical stuff) in African American Literature... which is really really not my field of study (I've never read the Bible, I've never taken a class on the Harlem renaissance and I didn't recognize a single one of the authors my teacher mentioned).
But it's okay because I have another semester to take a senior seminar (on Austen or Shakespeare or something about which I feel I could actually contribute external materials to a class discussion).
Like how I'm currently taking a Victorian Lit class (Heather too, I hear). Where of our 10-ish book assignments this semester there are only 2 that I haven't already read that and something else by that author. Although I still intend to reread all of them... because they're awesome.
Right now we're reading Wuthering Heights. Which was my favorite book through high school and might still be if I hadn't neglected to reread it for the last 3 years. But I'm reading it now. And it's wonderful but it's making me sad (partly because it is a depressing book about how love makes us miserable and ruins our lives) mostly because it's reminding me that I haven't talked to my best friend in three months. And unless one of us caves (which seems increasingly unlikely as time passes) I never will again.
This whole entry was sort of a roundabout way of getting to that point.
"...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same..."
Stupid Emily Bronte making me all reminiscent.
I already dropped a class. Actually, I think maybe it's the first time I've dropped a class in my college career, so it's about time.
I accidentally signed up for an english senior seminar that focused on the Apocalypse (aka Biblical stuff) in African American Literature... which is really really not my field of study (I've never read the Bible, I've never taken a class on the Harlem renaissance and I didn't recognize a single one of the authors my teacher mentioned).
But it's okay because I have another semester to take a senior seminar (on Austen or Shakespeare or something about which I feel I could actually contribute external materials to a class discussion).
Like how I'm currently taking a Victorian Lit class (Heather too, I hear). Where of our 10-ish book assignments this semester there are only 2 that I haven't already read that and something else by that author. Although I still intend to reread all of them... because they're awesome.
Right now we're reading Wuthering Heights. Which was my favorite book through high school and might still be if I hadn't neglected to reread it for the last 3 years. But I'm reading it now. And it's wonderful but it's making me sad (partly because it is a depressing book about how love makes us miserable and ruins our lives) mostly because it's reminding me that I haven't talked to my best friend in three months. And unless one of us caves (which seems increasingly unlikely as time passes) I never will again.
This whole entry was sort of a roundabout way of getting to that point.
"...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same..."
Stupid Emily Bronte making me all reminiscent.