(no subject)
Nov. 23rd, 2004 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kbkYou would think that by the time one is at university - specifically, in fourth year at university - one would have learned to ask. fucking. questions.
Um, my first lecture this morning, only one other person asked something and that was a handwriting clarification. I asked about caustics. As well as handwriting clarification. And then I walked to health centre and back, and then I sat idle in lecture, and then I went to creative writing workshop. Where nobody talked. Which I got quite annoyed about as I had planned to sit in corner listening and ended up being one of the talkative ones. Sigh. It was quite fun, conveying emotion through action, and we all wrote a little thing then read it out - well, some of us did - and we were supposed to talk about what it was conveying, but I was the only one that even tried that. And. Grr. I felt sorry for the post-grad taking it.
"Any questions?" he asks, and they sit there, mute, diligently avoiding his gaze, flipping through pages as though they'll find sudden inspiration in scrawled notes that went directly from ears to hands, utterly bypassing the brain.
Though that's not entirely applicable. And I'm just as guilty. But still.
Aargh. Ought to work, cannot be arsed, as usual.
Fic!
Um, my first lecture this morning, only one other person asked something and that was a handwriting clarification. I asked about caustics. As well as handwriting clarification. And then I walked to health centre and back, and then I sat idle in lecture, and then I went to creative writing workshop. Where nobody talked. Which I got quite annoyed about as I had planned to sit in corner listening and ended up being one of the talkative ones. Sigh. It was quite fun, conveying emotion through action, and we all wrote a little thing then read it out - well, some of us did - and we were supposed to talk about what it was conveying, but I was the only one that even tried that. And. Grr. I felt sorry for the post-grad taking it.
"Any questions?" he asks, and they sit there, mute, diligently avoiding his gaze, flipping through pages as though they'll find sudden inspiration in scrawled notes that went directly from ears to hands, utterly bypassing the brain.
Though that's not entirely applicable. And I'm just as guilty. But still.
Aargh. Ought to work, cannot be arsed, as usual.
Fic!
