so, i am officially taking classes next year. which is whatever at this point. i was kind of excited at the thought of a break, but i had already resigned myself to another year of unhappiness, so i'm okay with it. however, it is a little bit of a bummer, if only because next year would have been the perfect year to take off, since there are
literally zero victorian classes being offered for the entire year. i know, what the fuck. sb is being nice enough to do a directed study with a few of us (which actually seems pretty sweet so far--only 3 5-page papers), and i'm sure el guapo will at the very least allow us mid-mods to work on victorian texts for our papers, even though the course has no intentions of being victorian (seriously, dude, wtf? we
all voted for fin de siècle.). but still, i'm going to end up having to take classes in shit that i couldn't give a shit less about, which probably isn't going to help assuage my whole what-the-fuck-am-i-doing-in-school-oh-my-god-i-hate-this-so-much problem.
but on the bright side, i will be teaching lit next year, which could theoretically be really pivotal in helping me get through this quarter-life crisis bullshit. if it totally rocks my box in a way that 100 just can't, then maybe i'll finally find some of that motivation to keep going that everyone else seems to have. either that or i'll hate it and at that point somebody please kill me if that isn't enough reason to quit. 'cause god knows i'm not in this for the writing.
gawain calls to me. it's gonna be a long night.
