I lost my Muse

A.A. Milne needed nothing other than a new nib on his pen. G.K. Chesterton could write an essay on the subject of lying around in bed. Hillaire Belloc found a wellspring of information in reading newspaper advertisements. Mark Twain’s own muse was a tireless slave driver.

I too had a muse once. She left me for a more promising candidate, no doubt.

I was prolific once, but seem to have run out of grand ideas and the will to realize them. My muse used to be close at my metaphorical side, whispering endless ideas into my figurative ears that were all realized, more or less, back in my bright-eyed, innocent, pre-college days.

I should have known this would happen. She warned me, “Once you go to college, you’ll abandon me. You’ll never have any time for me.”

I assured her that this would certainly not be the case.

She didn’t believe me. She knew more than I did. What a fool I was.

Her prophecy came true. I willingly consigned my soul over to the tireless slave-driver of education, and only became less receptive to my muse. At last, she disappeared altogether.

I have no prospect of winning her back anytime soon. She may be waiting until I become more sensible, and give up on all this education nonsense.

Now all I can do is heave a great sigh of hopelessness and go back to my books. I can’t write anymore, I’ve lost my inspiration.

Not only are my creations few, but they are lifeless and lackluster.

I have lost my muse.


Greek Major Struggles

Somehow, I managed an extraordinary feat. I got a 96% on a Greek exam (on Aeschylus, no less!), but at the same time was told by the prof that I need to reassess my grasp of the Greek language.

Well then.

This angry rant will have utterly no relevance to anyone who doesn’t know Greek, or classics in general, probably, but if you are one of the poor saps that has no clue what I am talking about, lament your ignorance and not my angry rant.

I am a Greek major, I spend 48.7% of my time reading Greek, about 36.3% reading Latin and the rest is spent on other miscellaneous homework, eating, sleeping, and my social life *hem hem*. I’d say I’m pretty dedicated.

Sure, maybe I get a Greek and Latin construction confused (there’s no such thing as the “potential subjunctive” in Greek, you know), and there was that thing with the aorist optative of dekomai, which was weird, but hardly the worst problem I could ever have.

I’m pretty sure I read more Greek and Latin than I read English (because my school is awesome like that), so sometimes I go through periods when my grasp of the grammar of ANY of those three languages is vague and erratic. It’s when I get history papers back with “NO PASSIVE VOICE” written all over them that I realize that I have a problem.

Greek is just weird, and complicated, so I can’t really be blamed for knowing it for only about two years and still not being completely solid on every grammatical concept. Learning Greek is one of the hardest things I have yet managed to do (besides learning to play the violin, which is still a lot harder than Greek), and I haven’t even been at it for that long. But with a firm resolve, I yanked those intro Greek books off the shelf and slapped them on the table. I put my nose to the proverbial grindstone for two hours and wrote down every grammar concept I could possibly be uncertain of, then gave up in despair.

At some point today, I’ll start writing my paradigms again, like the good intro student I never was. *sigh*

The worst part is that my rather vague ability to define grammar concepts has not inhibited my ability to read the words and understand what’s going on (unless it’s Aeschylus, then I’m completely snookered about half the time, but that’s a different story).

Oh well. I’ll just continue battling like the mighty warrior I pretend to be. Relearning Greek can’t hurt, I guess.


A Life in the Day…a Day in the Life…whatever…

I’ve only just now returned to my room.

I was practicing violin, more specifically, scratching angrily away at the Kreutzer Sonata, and giving it a bit more gusto than perhaps even Beethoven would have liked (and that’s saying a lot).  In another life, I’m convinced that Ludwig and I could have bonded over our angst. (I wonder if he was an INTJ, too. I bet he was).

As I was practicing, I slowly began to realize how much homework I still have left to do, and an exam yet-unstudied-for. So then I ambled back to my dorm, dragging my feet in a disconsolate sort of way, hacking and wheezing as I felt my lungs shriveling into the size of kidney beans from inhaling the cold, dry air. My roommate assures me that the pain I feel upon walking outside is just a construct of my mind. I’m not sure that’s true. I willingly moved into a frozen wasteland because I thought the education would be worthwhile or something…I don’t know. Is an education really worth having the air hurt my face and shriveling my lungs to a fiftieth of their normal size? Or facing a mortal struggle when I have to get out of bed in the morning because it’s -10 degrees outside and about 40 in my room? But I digress.

Upon my return to my room, I then settled down for some quality procrastinating, which resulted in this Beethoven-driven blog post. I haven’t had NEARLY enough time for procrastinating this semester, which is depressing.

Then I turned on Beethoven’s 5th symphony and listened to the 3rd movement twice, because why not?

I have had exam after exam this week, and professors pressing me to come up with paper topics for various classes, and my ability to write three papers all at once seems to be failing me. I can barely handle three exams in a week! Yesterday was an American history exam, today was an exam on Aeschylus’ Eumenides, in Greek. I have a Latin exam on Friday, for which I am very dedicatedly not studying at the moment.

I’ve had more than enough anxiety this week. I just want to blast my Beethoven, drink peach tea, and rethink my entire life.

The worst part of it all is that I have temporarily sworn off caffeine, which makes mornings that much harder to endure, but I think my bloodstream was slowly being replaced by tea and coffee, so something needed to change.

In a few succinct paragraphs, you learn the struggles of a terribly irresponsible student attending school in a frozen wasteland, who thinks her blog is therapeutic and whose mettle is being thoroughly tested by her workload, the weather, and about fifty other things as well.