Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Over the week I read an older translation of sixty of Martial's epigrams, which reeked of British-isms (nicht gut) and hardly corresponded to the text (which was admitted freely enough in the introduction). For instance, where a clear usage of the word for "penis" appeared, the translation said something about the person having dropped his drawers, which simply lacks the fabulous effect of "penis" or its more direct euphemisms. Nevertheless, the book allowed me some initial familiarity with the Latin itself, some of which I would presumably study next semester with Dr. Larmour.
I took the Greek and Roman sculpture final this morning, disappointing myself with the lack of knowledge I displayed in my essay responses. I could have elaborated more, in retrospect, but lacked motivation, or energy, or the will to live. If I made a high "A" on the term paper, I should have made an "A-" or thereabouts for the course, unless I earned too few points with this exam. I should have studied more.
Dr. Borst sent an e-mail informing me I made a "B" in German, about which I am not surprised, considering I definitely put forth minimal effort this semester, for whatever reason. I felt motiveless and disconnected most of the time about all my classes. I think I have retained the mentality from high school that I might breeze through everything by sheer force of will and the virtue of being more well-read than everyone else. Unfortunately, I have less time than I used to for reading or thinking critically. My writing has stagnated, for certain. It distresses me, but I hardly have means to raise myself from the current situation. Oh, well.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:27 PM]