Marzipan
Spring semester began last night. Being in my College Writing II for five minutes left me convinced that this class is going to eat my soul. My professor seems very nice, quite sharp. And based upon the superficial outline of the course he gave us, we are going to be discussing (and subsequently writing about) some very cerebral and intense matters. In fact, the whole term coalesces around the individualized idea of what it means to be human. We shall read about various world religions and delve into some philosophy. Those facets alone should have me clamouring in excitement, but I find that I'm already weary, almost distressed, merely because there seems to be a lot of composition involved, and I find myself doubting my faculties more now than I ever have previously. Sure, I may have written some satisfactory pieces. I might know a lot of pretty words. But that doesn't necessarily translate to getting an excellent mark in this class, and it doesn't mean that I am smart.
Why must I be such a monster?
Today I ended up dropping my other class, Psychology of Adjustment, and registering for an art class instead. As it turns out, I don't need the former; however, I do need at least three credit hours in the Fine Arts category, which is unfulfilled. I feel slightly more rosy about the semester now, if only because I'm getting closer to having my LER (liberal education requirements) completed.
Sean is not yet home, so I may get in a little more exercise and read an old issue of Newsweek, though right now I am thinking of the morning moon I saw while looking out our kitchen window.
Why must I be such a monster?
Today I ended up dropping my other class, Psychology of Adjustment, and registering for an art class instead. As it turns out, I don't need the former; however, I do need at least three credit hours in the Fine Arts category, which is unfulfilled. I feel slightly more rosy about the semester now, if only because I'm getting closer to having my LER (liberal education requirements) completed.
Sean is not yet home, so I may get in a little more exercise and read an old issue of Newsweek, though right now I am thinking of the morning moon I saw while looking out our kitchen window.