taxing day though nothing has happened really
Been to school for just an hour's worth of tutorial, where we didn't exactly do much, well, almost nothing at all. And I got confused over whether it was 1 person as presenter for each text listed, while everyone frantically yells out their name and the text of their choice for presentation. And I was like huh, can say wuthering heights after Lingyi said she's doing it already not.. by then all's taken up; only Arnold was left - well, that or the conclusion, and seriously, I was just too stoned to actually ask if I could change to Vanity Fair. I'm super lousy at poetry; I misread Milton - or so Walter implies - and I'm F-grade, according to Ms Sng. So.. I guess I'm digging my own grave this semester. I'm so sick of all these things even before they've truly started! This is ridiculous, really. I'm struggling with reading my lit texts and printing Jstor readings and making a ridiculous amount of trips to the RBR and all these are absolutely stressing me out; I'm spent. Mentally tired - no, rather, lethargic, I think. I'll suffer to wonder if I'm really set to major in Lit. It makes me so sick. I feel like myself, yet unlike myself. I guess I'm not exactly reconciled with the idea of foregoing Psych for LIt, perhaps..? No. I am quite certain I want to do Lit, cos it's quite obvious that it's the thing that occupies my being the most, yet somehow, as times goes by, and I'm pressured to take so many lit modules, I'm just getting eaten up from inside, by my own sheer will to graduate on time - worse, I want to, intend to, have to graduate well.
I'm starting to think I'm asking too much from myself.
When you take 6 modules, your semester's pretty much defined by this:
6 presentations
6 essays 7 essays
1 term paper
2 mid term tests
5 final exams
1 final test
15 lit texts
8 plays