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Summertime

So, you know what? This whole damn degree is getting to be rather tiring. What's particularly stupid about the whole thing is that I could graduate this very minute if I wasn't so hell-bent on completing the Honours program. Rather than doing that though, I'm subjecting myself to three 400-level seminars, and a course in international political economy; I've written three papers this semester alone - two on pseudo-Islamic ideologies, and one exegisis of Plato - and have five more to complete. When it's done - when I've finished writing two more papers on Platonic thought, criticisms of Marxist and Hobbsian epistemology, and a reflection on the pneumology of the Earl of Shaftesbury - I doubt that I'll have much inclination to write anything else for a number of months afterwards.

I can barely wait for a time when I'm not compelled to write like a juiced-up monkey at a typewriter. I can't wait for a time when I actually have the leisure and energy to go on a bloody date. Hell, I can't wait for that future when I actually have the time to complain, but no longer have the need; that will be a nirvana I can scarcely remember, and can scarcely do without.

(Edit: Ironically, the composing of the rant ate-up twenty-five of the ninety minutes of spare-time that I actually had today. :-P)

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