Monday, April 18, 2005
The paper I wrote discussing Siddhartha and As I Lay Dying received a 100. I again am perplexed, for I wrote the last third the morning of the due date; that part connected loosely, if at all, to the first section. The professor scratched, "Interesting" to the side of my relating Faulkner's choices for character and plot development to American isolationism. I felt confident as I wrote that he would appreciate the linkage.
The English final is to be a comparison of the two books I have not yet written about- the Kafka stories and A Wizard of Earthsea, which I am currently reading. He allows notes, which means I shall outline most of it prior to the exam, copy and embellish the remainder, and finish within an hour rather than stress through the entire two and-a-half hour period. The class periods before the final consist of five-minute reports about topics relevant to the novels read, I suspect as a manner by which we absorb different perspectives. I might mention certain references from classical mythology or history I noticed.
I called The Father the other day, and he informed me he opened the mail I had gotten only in order to put it into a smaller envelope and thereby avoid the extra postage expense. He swore he looked at nothing.
Oh. Well, gee, is my face red. But, then, how could he expect me to react? Oh, well.
During the conversation he mentioned The Megabitch sold a few art pieces to a gallery owner/dealer person in Houston, who commissioned a few more, as well. I am genuinely glad for her; we've never gotten along, but I would not deny that my sister has always been a talented artist. She deserves success with it. The Father sounded pleased, but still dubious about her career choice. I hope she becomes a filthy-rich, cultural icon, just to spite him.
Not bitter- I am not bitter...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:32 PM]