Okay, so I may not have gotten as many correct as I thought on the Chaucer exam, but I'm still fairly confident I'll have an "A" in there.
Didn't do anything on the website yesterday, as I spent most of the day in the library working on the paper for Coon. Haven't gotten to the major argmentative part of it yet, but I did outline the whole thing, and I've got separate pages for each section. I've decided that, since most of the history articles I've read tend to take a long time getting to their point, I'm going to stop writing papers in the old "one-paragraph-for-each-topic-one-pargraph-for-intro-and-conclusion" mileu, and instead write "introduction-with-interesting-historical-context;-talk-about-historical-document's-origins;-talk-about-releveance-of-document;-conclusion-with-interesting-historical-ramifications." I think it will be good, and I'm shooting for six pages.
I asked payroll for more money, but that was on Friday, and I don't know if I'll get it, but I'll pretend that I will. I mean, I should get it...
Test tomorrow, paper done by tomorrow evening, turn in paper and take Latin exam on Tuesday, website done by Wednesday evening, and I'm free, Jack! I... get... to... clean up the flat. But it needs it, though, and I'll feel good later.
Sold back a lot of books, and went to the Used Bookshop and turned them into other books. Two are on the Modern Library list, and four (plus the two Carole gave me) are on the Radcliff list, and I bought a slender volume by W. Someset Maugham (The Moon and Sixpence), when I was supposed to buy Of Human Bondage, but we'll see if this is any good.
Man, that yellow feeling is coming back -- the feeling that by owning these books, I'm going to end up in a big old house in the Victorian District of some town, having a huge library, three cats, and no life. It's interspursed with the white feeling, though -- the melancholy, abandoned-clapboard-church-in-the-woods feeling.
Am I weird? Probably. Maybe it was the drugs -- but then maybe some drugs make you a good poet. Or not.
Accompanied Carol M. out last night, ostensibly to see a movie, but more importantly to maintain her mental health, as she had broken up with a -- in my personal opinion -- childish, immature, person who didn't know what he wanted from life and a relationship (and no, it wasn't me). She wasn't doing very well until I suggested that we go to PetCo (I think it's PetCo) and look at the ferrets, and the tuberats were so cute that she broke out of it. I've got a pretty good sympathetic ear, I think, and if it wasn't for the fact that she hardly talks in a register I can hear well, I'd have a better one with her, but she felt better after that. Not... great, you know, but better.