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[personal profile] freckles_and_doubt
I have been marking second-year English essays this weekend, and am pretty much at the stage of ritual suicide. I don't know if it's a particularly bad batch, or if the impending sinus infection is making me unduly pessimistic, or if I've been infected by the Gothic gloom of the topic, but I am genuinely beginning to despair. These are second-year English students. They should, surely, be capable of stringing together a coherent paragraph which presents something vaguely resembling an argument? If I have to deal with another instance of [vague, unsubstantiated and categorical statement] + [unrelated and unexplained quote from the story] presented with a triumphant flourish as though it actually proves something, there is going to be a small, localised space-time explosion and my brain will end up fetchingly festooned around my ears in a manoeuvre not unrelated to Grunthos the Flatulent's lower intestine strangling him in the interests of sanity. Also, these dear children are clearly infecting my sentences. Aargh.

I console myself with Joseph Gordon-Levitt dancing. Adorably. It's very consoling. Right up there with manatees.

It must be the night for it

Date: Sunday, 7 October 2012 10:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] woollythinker.wordpress.com (from livejournal.com)
One of my Twitter friends is also listening to Rocky Horror right now, and tweeting select lyrics, meaning of course that I'm listening to it (in my head). It's like we're having a very small and geographically dispersed silent disco.

Re: It must be the night for it

Date: Monday, 8 October 2012 06:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] extemporanea.livejournal.com
a very small and geographically dispersed silent disco

Cool! Although I should add for posterity that RHPS is insanely playable, so the silent disco has been interspersed with me dashing to the piano and reeling off a few verses, to the accompaniment of glad cries of "The tonic minor! of course!"

I thought, seeing your subject line, that you were admitting a shared night at horror over frangled arguments. This is much more pleasant.

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