nspells (nspells) wrote,

  • Music:

Week 8 - And we're back.

So, the break has been and gone. I'd like to say that I spent the week writing and studying so much my pen actually etched the words into my desk, but sadly I cannot. I could however tell you an accurate tale of how my pen stayed in the drawer and didn't seem to want to come out. Don't get me wrong, I tried to get him to come out, but he just wasn't for it! I pleaded to him that I had to study, and that if I didn't I'd most likely drown in work, though he was defiant, and unmovable. So I gave up, and sat in my room sighing while the work went undone, the essays piled up around me, and my desk and I slowly sunk into the ground under the pressure. It wasn't a fun time, though being a highly qualified procrastinator I knew not to panic under these conditions and gathered all my years of avoiding work and inexperienced experience to do one thing. Nothing. And I was pretty damn good at it.

But onto more pressing matters. If I though I was stressing before, you should have seen me after I read Emily Dickinson's, Much Madness is divinest Sense. At first I thought that in that week of doing little work I had forgotten the fundamentals of the English language, and while attempting to read seemingly normal poem, I had fallen into some sort of trivial hole in the Earth, where sentences no longer connected with each other in a logical fashion and hyphens tripped over commas in a mad dash to make literal sense. Then I realised that this madness I was feeling, was in fact what this poem was about; the conformity of society and the notion of free speach, in a sense. Easy, right? Wrong. It took me a while to figure out that Emily Dickinson must've seen the world like this:

                                                     A place so crazy you can wear thongs with socks on and not get judged.

All her poems are amazingly complex. I sometimes wonder if we're even close to what she was actually talking about, or way off. Now I write this after my tutorial, in which we were given the task of figuring out the meaning behind her poem What Soft - Cherubic Creatures, and I'm proud to say that our group figured it out. Now I wouldn't call myself a genius. More of a super awesome genius. And I still await my prize of a solitary piece of chocolate. It will be worth more than all the riches of the land!

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