"oh, i'm going too fast! california, rest in peace..."
I peek my wrinkled brow from behind the stacks of papers and to-do lists only long enough to feel an impulse to post about what all is expected these first few days, now that I'm beginning to grasp the set-up of each class, each of which has a completely different set of guidelines--how many threads to start, to respond to, even when the classes or modules begin and end--and none of which coincide at all.
--two essays for English this first week; by Saturday
--collaborative assignments per week that get more involved with each consecutive module for English
--at least one essay, from varying classes, for each of the five weeks after that, well into February; I was too disheartened at that point of comparing syllabi that I didn't check to see if the minimum of one paper per week pattern goes beyond that
--one full-blown test every week for sociology
--about two full-length chapters plus extra internet reading for half the classes every week; the others are either just two chapters or, in the case of the oh-so-lovable sociology, one chapter a week
And self-motivated but still serious studies in:
--philosophy
--physics
--literature
--latin
--music
And not to forget:
--the continually more involved martial arts
--the never-ending search for another part-time job
--the freelance writing assignments, two of which I'm working on right now as well
However, I just finished the rough draft of the first essay for lit.-based research, which is a paper that summarizes and evaluates Kate Chopin's The Story of an Hour, and have since become fascinated with the way Chopin ends her "short short story"--of joy that kills. Rather, I should say I've become fascinated again with that story, because I've read it before many times. Provocative, yet in some way I identify with the protagonist, whose sudden realization of the passionate freedom she'll find in the presumed death of her husband is what destroys her.
Its one of those phrases that sometimes has a way of creeping into the recesses of your mind--like another one, "the unforgivable sin," which I've been playing around with both as the title and subject for the novel I keep swearing to start and finish every year. I can see this work being sprawling and complex--perfect for novel form--but incisive and controversial, with its roots in philosophical debates. Or, at least, that is my ultimate fantasy for it, based entirely on the one (opening) sentence:
Is the unforgivable sin causing the death of another or the death of one's self?
--two essays for English this first week; by Saturday
--collaborative assignments per week that get more involved with each consecutive module for English
--at least one essay, from varying classes, for each of the five weeks after that, well into February; I was too disheartened at that point of comparing syllabi that I didn't check to see if the minimum of one paper per week pattern goes beyond that
--one full-blown test every week for sociology
--about two full-length chapters plus extra internet reading for half the classes every week; the others are either just two chapters or, in the case of the oh-so-lovable sociology, one chapter a week
And self-motivated but still serious studies in:
--philosophy
--physics
--literature
--latin
--music
And not to forget:
--the continually more involved martial arts
--the never-ending search for another part-time job
--the freelance writing assignments, two of which I'm working on right now as well
However, I just finished the rough draft of the first essay for lit.-based research, which is a paper that summarizes and evaluates Kate Chopin's The Story of an Hour, and have since become fascinated with the way Chopin ends her "short short story"--of joy that kills. Rather, I should say I've become fascinated again with that story, because I've read it before many times. Provocative, yet in some way I identify with the protagonist, whose sudden realization of the passionate freedom she'll find in the presumed death of her husband is what destroys her.
Its one of those phrases that sometimes has a way of creeping into the recesses of your mind--like another one, "the unforgivable sin," which I've been playing around with both as the title and subject for the novel I keep swearing to start and finish every year. I can see this work being sprawling and complex--perfect for novel form--but incisive and controversial, with its roots in philosophical debates. Or, at least, that is my ultimate fantasy for it, based entirely on the one (opening) sentence:
Is the unforgivable sin causing the death of another or the death of one's self?