the blaze and the press of the gold leaves


Cuddle puddles and Renaissance Fair and changing rooms and a brown-creamlace bodice. Rain and sylvan forests and suggestions and shivers. ‘Mmmm’ pretty much sums up the weekend.

Today, a migraine headache and an end of tolerance for the guy who interrupts the teacher during discussion. Child, I swear. She is Dr. and Professor, and has taught this course long. You do not know more than her. You aren’t even adding anything to the discussion. You are just indulging a fantasy that we want to listen to your badly worded pop culture references. We don’t. Maybe one, two per class, and you’d be okay. But we laughed once and now you’re unstoppable. If you speak? Modulate your voice from ‘mulelike bray’ to ‘indoors’. Never again interrupt the teacher. Give her the respect she is due and has earned in her treatment of the course, the class. Yes, she is soft-voiced. Do not take this as permission. Respect. Learn it. That goes for letting the other fucking students speak too. Yes, Milton can be a bit dull, especially the God portions, and yes, we’ve been treating them lightheartedly. Do not fucking abuse the discussion-based nature of the course. This is not highschool, and no one has to pander to your attention starved half-baked ideas.

/rantrantrant. TL;DR: Awesome weekend, shitacular Milton class

Also, German now has its own scent. That will forever be burned in my memory. Whenever I pass an open sewer, I’ll smile fondly and start conjugating sein, haben, heißen, and kommen.


One Response to “the blaze and the press of the gold leaves”

  1. 1 lidraen

    Everything important needs its own smell.
    And, unfathomably, there is always that one person that ruins a class. *hugs*

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