Sustained Criticism

I complained that there was no snow, and I got a snow-storm. But, at the very least, the world is white again. Snow is a marvel, it makes the ugliest of things astounding.

And, apropos, how did I land the role of demi-psychiatrist at parties? Is there something about me that invites people to relate how tear-stainedly miserable they are? I know that I have a talent of sorts for pretending to listen, but I cannot possibly look inviting whem I'm drunk and dancing around, or laughing, bedraggledly, on the floor. In the past week I have had two people confess the most bizarre things to me, completely un-asked for. It is not so much that I mind, but that I am astounded, and curious. Why on earth do people tell me these things? And why will no one discuss literature with me when they are drunk, instead? Why me, and why when I really do not know you?
Perhaps the universe is making obscene hints, or just trying to tell me that languages and social science is not the education I should be looking at, at all. Perhaps I should just get a card saying "Alex - Wannabe intellectual and party psychiatrist. Especially fond of bad discussions".

The interim between the two world wars is particularly boring today, too. I would much rather be reading the introductory essay to Julius Caesar.

My schedual grows less tangible by the day, but I think I will be very happy with this latest edition. I will only have to get up early two days a week, and I have next to no classes - 17 hours a week, plus the occasional Wedensday. It also seems the school is arranging for a group of students to attend some lectures at UiO, and write a paper to be assed by the British Insitute. To make up for lost classes, I'm taking an exam in Psychology B. To keep myself entertained, I'm signing up for a Russian class.

My Norwegian/History teacher is wonderfully well-read, intelligent, engaging - all 'round wonderful, and a brilliant teacher. He even approved of my somewhat morbid topic for the "extended essay" (bad translation of the Norwegian "særemne"). Religion seems, this far, to be one of those subjects that are so ridiculously easy they just might prove difficult to get the hang of. Get a 6 in, that is, a 5 I can acquire without batting an eye.

We examined Hovland's book today, and although I haven't grown to like it more, I respect Hovland more. There were a few things I'd not seen - glaringly obvious ones, at that - that gain his case.

(For anyone wondering, the title translates as "in search of lost time" or, "in search of time lost". I personally prefer the latter for its ring. And credit goes to Proust.)

Aaand, I got to play dictator today. I was told I'm a natural, and really can't figure why.