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Lawlz. Nerds.
What sort of people would you expect in a Medieval Myth and Modern Narrative class?
This is a class whose main texts are Lord of the Rings, Beowulf, and random Tolkien farts of brilliance. That being said, I believe the class is solidly split between two demographics:
a) English and Classics majors
b) Computer Science majors.
-insert jokes about nerds, geeks, virgins, etc here-
Admittedly, I took the class because of Lord of the Rings. And Grendel. I’m staying in the class to study the people in it. Goodness, what weird people.
There was one girl on the first day who seemed altogether focused on misrepresenting religion in 8th century Britannia (I’m not sure if that is a valid description of the setting of Beowulf, but I’ll run with it). Honestly, it wasn’t what she said that bothered me the most. It was her voice. I am a hugely judgmental person. Regardless, she, for some reason, did not speak often in our discussion today on Tolkien’s Beowulf essay, which just leads me to assume she didn’t do the reading and judge accordingly.
There’s this one kid who stated on the first day of class that he did not need to get a good grade or even pass the class; he was just taking it for fun. Which makes me wonder why he talks so much that I can’t ask questions. He got involved in this massive question of Norse mythology and whether monsters are external or merely terrifying aspects of human nature. Somehow this led to his own personal discourse of thoughts on the Beowulf movie. And spawned the thoughts of the rest of the boys in the class.
Next, over-eager computer science boy. I can’t really say I don’t like his thoughts. I just don’t like his face. And the fact that he has opinions on the Beowulf movie.
In contrast, I love my teacher for that class. She’s a lady who knows her business. I love love love the teachers who can actually believe in right and wrong answers. My favorite was when she shot down numerous students with “no. You’re confused.”
But I promise, if I hear another opinion of the Beowulf movie, I will die.
Moving out takes weeks, not 5 days
It’s the end of this unruly semester. My head has been bursting with group meetings, finals, dinner plans, and papers. Finally, on Thursday night, everything’s slowing down and I’m… homesick?
Not even homesick for my house. Or for the dorm, really. I miss being home, sure. But I already suddenly miss all this. I miss internship, and running to classes. I miss Thursday night Ten Ren’s dates. I miss trips to the grocery store and Target. I even miss heavy car ride conversations that fill me with skepticism and leave me without answers. I’ll miss falling asleep without giggling with the other person in the room. I miss all nighters and procrastination.
I’m sure I’ll have more of them, and it’s only a few weeks, but there’s such an air of finality to this that worries me.
And with compulsively checking grades, finishing final reports, putting of studying to spend time playing vidja games with friends, I haven’t had time to move out, or think about moving out.
I hope it’s hormones. Sleep deprivation and hormones.
There’s a hovercraft on my bed
Current Pandora station: Great Lake Swimmers (though I’m favoring The Decemberists)
Current Tea: Pomegranate black with tons of sugar
Current Mood: Intellectually constipated.
I’m working on my second essay in a row wherein I hate my prose. I’m not sure what’s wrong with my writing now, but it’s just awful to work through. The last essay was on American Intimacy, and I should have loved it, but Dr Auchard had me confused on my argument and terrified of messing up my chance to be his TA. That one ended up pretty solid, grade-wise. This essay is on nonverbal communication in a Writing Center setting. Once again, I felt really good when I was outlining and researching it. I had plenty of support.
Trying to write it now is just an awkward adventure of a sloppy writer. Each of my sentences contain “tutors should be aware” and each is more pretentious than the last. I thought practicality would make it more appealing to read, but it just sounds bossy.
I’m too tired for elegance. Freewriting may bring back some of my literary voice, but it won’t make this subject matter less obnoxious.
