March 15th, 2007

Sweatdrop

Duck & Weave

Alas, it seems that my luck, what little of it was left, has now run dry. I'm struggling with finishing two essays, again, but this time I'll be struggling just to hand them in late. The deadline is today, and both stand at a wordcount of 0, although I've read over 50 pages for each. I'm now moreorless relying on the lecturers to hold to their patterns from last month, so that I can hand in my Europe essay on Friday morning so that it appeared to have been handed in this evening, and the same for East Asia, with Monday and Friday respectively. Yes, I know this is pretty underhand, but I sat there last night, with a pile of papers discussing the philosophical thrust of romanticism, and I reached for that power source within me that allowed me to work myself past the limit to get these essays done. It was dried out.

I tried staying up on Monday and Tuesday nights. With Monday, I managed to claw myself awake at 5am, and proceeded to read a good 70 pages on the Japanese economic miracle before I had to rush to campus for German, which just happened to be about German art, including romanticism. However, I had a pretty busy evening, as I had on Monday (society elections!), so I didn't get a great deal accomplished other than watching the German Society production of Max Frisch's Andorra, renewing my books on romanticism, eating some more of my pasta blend, and getting so frustrated with a pair of chattering girls in the PC labs that I may have left my earphones behind (I haven't found them yet). Even the Dresden Dolls could not block out their discussions over a new bag, which were loud to enough to give the impression they were having a chat on an airport runway.

Tuesday night...failed. I awoke at 3am, ready to work, only to lie there in a half-asleep state until it was already light outside. I had to be on campus at 9am for my Europe seminar, and then afterwards tackled a German comprehension that I eventually gave up on, because I hadn't a clue what it was on about, and that had little to do with the language (No, I really do not have a good grasp of child benefit laws). After all this, I printed out 22 pages of journal articles, with each page containing four journal pages, and went home to make a start, however I was too exhauasted. Okay, I thought, I'll sleep until 6pm and work from then until, well, now. I woke at 7pm, and realised that had been a bad idea, as I was not at all refreshed, but now more sleepy than before. The pattern of spending an hour going through sources and then an hour half-asleep thus began, until I awoke at 5:30am, realising I had passed out at 3, with only Virgin Radio keeping me from falling fully asleep. At that point, I knew I wouldn't make it.

So here I am. I'm ashamed, yes, but these are non-assessed essays, and they're the final two of eight. I did spend Friday to Sunday with a rotten cold, and since then I've had various non-academic things to handle, including Holly becoming ill again last night. I'll ask Dr. Mark for a day's extension (again...), and hope that my plan can work. Once these are out of the way, the end is most certainly in sight, with only two German culture essays left, and I've over a week to get both of them done. I just need to rid myself of the History, and that's going to drain me even more. I guess I'm just fed-up of turning myself into a sleep-food-drink-deprived zombie with each deadline, and this time, I'll try taking a little more care. It was the mad rush with my German essay from last week that most likely gave me the cold anyhow, and another one next week would turn those German Culture essays into another trap.

Ooooh, isn't Uni fun? Still, almost made it through the Second Year Essay Minefield. Almost...and for the record, never pick an essay on romanticism, no matter how many signs you recieve pointing in that direction. It's a huge poetic-philosophical-artistic-political malstrom, and it's really rather difficult comprehending passages discussing the transcience of true poetic form in romantic prose (as opposed to classic prose), and the ever-present mysticism of the infinite within true romantic form, at 1:30am in the middle of the working week.

It's pretty, though.