102: Another circle

It feels later than it is.

Now, it's nearly 1 AM so let's not misunderstand. It's pretty late. And it's Tuesday night, for what it's worth. I say this because I've found myself having trouble keeping track of the date lately, particularly today. But dates later, time now.

The AmLit exam yesterday went awesomely, by the way. It was every question I could've wanted (minus the one on female sexuality) and I feel I made far better points than I even expected to (using Thomas King's Coyote Columbus Story and Moore's Canonical Babbling to demonstrate the use of humour to estrange the reader from difficult reality,) and I even kicked ass on the sight passage (for which I chose the Lady from Lucknow. I guess by coincidence everything I wrote about was done in the last few weeks of class. Funny, that.)

Today was my history exam. I knew it wasn't going to go well, and it went along the upper lines of my expectations. Not great, but not a total disaster. I didn't really care. Unfortunate, but at this point, all I really wanted was to punctuate the last sentence of that exam and get the hell out.

I showed up really early and chatted with this dude I kinda know from film, and some girls who were around, one of whom as it turns out was in my CanLit course (another girl, from both CanLit and Shakespeare, was also around, and I'd had no idea she was in this class too.) The CanLit girl, Zoe, I'd remembered because she always sat in front and talked with the prof. We got to talking as thought we went way back, which is always fun when you've really just met the person.

The exam format was three essay questions. In preparation, we were given eight essay questions, of which three would be the exam. It was, of course, an insane preparation tactic. You can't learn eight full essays worth of material. Five maybe. I'd say there were maybe four questions I could've done really well on, and one of them actually was on the exam - discussing the effects of 1968 protests on European societies. The second question was on the Yalta conference, not such a terrible topic, just not one If'm going to be able to mine for everything.

The last question was the one I'd dreaded, knew was going to be on the exam (purely through intuition) and was powerless to escape, regarded the roles of Secret Police. I got maybe a half an answer before repeating myself, then thinking "Fuck it! I'm done" and walking out at the two hour mark, just as I said I would. I'm not terrifically proud of myself, but at least I know my limits.

I picked up my exam on the way out. I'd already gotten my mark, and the comments weren't terribly surprising. It boils down to the same problem I've had all year - I make some good points but structure my arguments badly. I accept the complete blame for this. I am working to improve myself. It's done. I'm over it.

So I walked out into the sun, into a warm spring breeze, but sadly I never got that feeling of freedom you get when you know you're done school for an extended period, due largely to the whole summer course thing. So walking out of that exam the best I could say is "I have nothing pressing in the immediate future!" I feel like I've robbed myself of some sense of relief.

So I got home and just kinda... vegged. It's been a long year and I've left it behind. I'm going to miss some of it. Some of the faces I never met. People I always saw but never spoke to and thus formed opinions of that are now permanent. People I did speak to but didn't know well. The girls in film history (I'll probably see them next year) Claire (I'm sure to run into her again sooner or later.) The profs. The routines. The routes I'd walk, the particular seats I'd staked out in each lecture hall. There were some good memories, but in the end it was so much stress.

Onward to the next thing.

It is now legitimately late, nearing 2. I distracted myself for a while with Cracked.com and other things. I've got a new idea for a play. I might actually have some time to do some writing in the near future. We'll see...

Keep on rockin'
-Scott