Scribblings

Mud.

Sometimes time is on your side, and you can leave five minutes late and be caught in traffic and then be five minutes early. And I didn’t speed, but I did take a short cut.

It’s funny, because I could’ve been twenty minutes late and it wouldn’t have mattered, because all the lecturer has discussed so far is why it is a sin that ‘Google’ has become a verb and the ways that we’ve all granted power to a multi-national corporation to rule over our lazy and entitled lives. Maybe in some situation this conversation is an engaging one, but I have to admit that it has little to do with the analysis of Wuthering Heights.

It’s day four of this year’s second trimester at uni, and I didn’t even have a lecture on Tuesday, because the uni is still waking up from the holidays and tutorials don’t start until next week.

I’m feeling motivated about this trimester to an extent, but I’m still doing some introductory classes, which are partially great because the lecturers don’t expect you to be good at referencing, but they’re also so boring. Like there’s no real angle, it’s all just literature in general, and my other classes look at literature from a Victorian perspective or the fantastical perspective, and the ways it influences society and how society influences it, and its commentary and its critical response.

Maybe my introductory units wouldn’t be so boring if they weren’t held in a hot, dark lecture theatre and led by a lecturer who lulls you to sleep, and not with a melodic lullaby voice, but with a low and drawling voice discussing something we’re not studying.

Anyway, I guess the lesson is that you have to walk through mud before you get to the stream. And the mud is good for your skin, or the stream can clean your feet, or you can drink it, or whatever this analogy is.

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