Today I found a curt email lurking malevolently in my inbox – my exam timetable. Well, actually, it said “examination” timetable, the faculty knowing full well the immediacy and terror of That Word’s unabbreviated form. But after perusing the page, I felt a certain not-so-unbearable lightness. It's strange, but the idea of 11 weeks to go until sweating it out in adverse conditions (ie. a clock and an itchy shirt. And, y’know, that intense nausea born of an overwhelming sense of one’s own inadequacy) doesn’t fill me with a particular sense of urgency.
A sneaking guilt occasionally creeps through me, but it’s more a response to the fact that I am not yet wracked with the inevitable guilty conscience that I’ve been expecting. This brings me to my incredibly philosophical point (that I’ve heard is the ultimate end of all blog-posts) which is this:
The only thing we have to fear is not feeling fearful.
It’s a bit of a twist of an old adage (can you guess what it is? I think it’s either Roosevelt or Dumbledore..) but far more accurate. WHY are we all still walking around in a hazy state of inertia, sitting around in the sun, doing nothing, thinking about how lovely June will be when we can sit around in the sun, doing nothing? It is probably this complacency that will plague me more than my shocking ignorance of England’s stability under Edward the Confessor (which, incidentally, would be a pretty good blogging epithet).
I admit this is the calm before the storm, and the dread of revision with all its horrors (sleeplessness, borderline insanity, bad skin, crying, that inky lump on your middle finger, intermittent pangs of crippling loneliness, crying) will soon blight the fresh face of this shiny new web-page. Either that or your own tears will render it illegible.
Symbolic of the state of being a finalist is a chapter-heading in one of my ominous pile of books:
The course of true nationalism never did run smooth
Right. So basically LOVE and all that it entails has been replaced by a fairly pejorative term for an ideology generally believed to have emerged in 19th century Europe, elements of which soon led to the development of fascist tendencies. So poetic, these historians.
Anyway, that’s the only interesting that happened to me today. Other than in the library I thought I saw someone die. Octogenarian professors should not fall asleep on the desks. Surely he should be kept awake by the sheer brilliance of his thoughts? Wish I was.
Night night,
Dodgson (the Confessor).
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