We Were Still Running

I want to go running. Unfortunately, I am in the midst of a 15-page take-home final. "Take-home final? I thought you were in grad school," you sneer. First of all, get some new material, alright? Second, the take-home final is a wolf in sheep's clothing. Rather than biting the bullet and suffering through 2 1/2 hours of scribbling into a blue book like you would during an in-class final, the take-home final up taking way more time, is graded more steeply, and prevents you from going running, even though it's 3:18 in the afternoon and a perfect 80 degrees outside. I've already written 13 pages for one take-home; now I'm on page 10 of another. Throw in a couple research papers that should combine to total 35-40 pages, and that's a whole lot of writing.

Meanwhile, here I am wasting words. There, there -- I don't mean you're a waste. I just mean that I've long held to the belief that we are only allotted a certain number of words per day. I'm not sure if they can carry over, day to day, or not. I just know that if you write me an email, and I don't get back to you, it might be because I ran out of words for the day...or seven. It's just risky doing to the blog thing right now is all I'm saying, since I may go back to finish off my writing for the day, only to find that I've gone and spent all my words. And that will be tragic, since coming back to the work tomorrow will ruin the consistency. See, if I come back tomorrow, I'll probably start writing in an entirely different voice, which might be permissible from one essay to another, but certainly not within the same one. Literary schizophrenia, I guess.

Back to the grind...