Wisely, End of Semester, Phil, and other assorted shit flavoured crap I am dealing with . . .

Out of all the professors Ive met at UL, there are only a few that I would care to keep in touch with after I am finished with my MA Thesis.

Ian Kinsella: Instructor of courses based in English and Humanities, though mainly Humanities these days. He holds strong beliefs that border the paranoid, insights rebelious teens to strike out against the system, deplores the path the Universities are taking towards a more “job” oriented atmosphere away from the Humanities, reads and has read more books than most Professors I know, and has the uncanny ability to point to a book on his shelf and quote a passage that is not only relevant to the discussion, but encompasses the entire argument. Watch My Dinner with Andre and you will know his cornerstone. (“But I like my electric blanket.”)

Dr. Honneger: Linguist schooled in Formal Theory. He argues that he rides the fence, but in my opinion that fence is placed a few yards off center on the Formalist side. Judges every new idea with a method of imagining the extreme interpretations. If the idea becomes flawed at the extremes, he dismisses the idea.

Dr Christopher Healy: New “kid” on the block, with the same attitude I like to pretend I have. Cocky and maybe a little arrogant, but then he deserves to be having focused his career on dead languages.

Dr James Anderson: Failed me, with good reason, my last undergraduate semester. Not only inspired me to learn grammar and use it(which I am probably not doing now), but also tweak my knowledge about Language. One of the main influences in me attempting to become a Linguist. Despises incompetance, ignorance, and apathy, which is in abundance of the faculty and students in probably most of the world. Unfortunately, he is a Jesuit trained teacher trying to regain his memories of learning and knowledge during a time when speed and entertainment are more important than truth and accuracy.

Dr Claiborne Rice: Amanda says we are two peas in a pod. She might be correct. He like the rest plays devils advocate, except exceedingly well. He has changed my mind on numerous occasions, because I couldnt combat his logic. He enjoys discussing my failings, which there are many, before others and myself. I accept him to be an honest man, which may be a flaw on my part, but he has never hesitated to tell me the truth about my work or ideas. He gave me my first taste of Linguistics. Having entered into college with only the notion that I didnt want to concentrate in something I spent 7 years doing, Literature and Creative Writing, I decided that Linguistics sounded appealing to me. I knew nothing about Linguistics other than it involved Language. I took Cognitive Poetics with him and remained lost throughout most of the class because I couldnt grasp all of the ideas. I had been thrust into an awkward teaparty which I knew no one at and was being forced to carry on like I was good friends with everyone. The only thought which completely took over my mind was that I was in love. The idea that you could throw science screaming its way at literature and watch beautiful things happen intrigued and fueled me. I hope one day I will be considered a Linguist. I hope I never tire his patience of me.

I want to say, “What the hell? Phil, I think your making a big mistake. I think you will not finish your MA degree and will find some crappy minimum wage job you will hate for the rest of your life.” Then I examine my life and realize I am completeling an MA degree, with very little prospects of getting a job which will use it. I am tired of the hoops. Buy a fucking tiger, they gracefully jump through flame, while I singe my skin every stumble.

Landlord gave us until June 30 to move out. She was polite about it. Some family of hers need a place to stay, so we have to find a new house/apartment/leanto. David doesnt want to live with us anymore because he has a strange notion that moving back in with mother and dad is a good thing. I cant go back. I have a crappy job which I hate, which makes me miss my school, I guess Im the only thing making me stay there. I want to teach. I want to sleep at night. I want to eat sushi. I want a change. I want my electric blanket.

I do not know what will happen or where I will be in three months let alone 6. I hope it somewheres nice. I am tired of crap.

I am bankrupt, poor, but I still cant quit my job. I sometimes wish I could be shot, or get crumpled by a car. A moment of agony or terror would put meaning into my life, would allow me to realize whether I care.

I am tired. I have a headache, which I have had for a few years. My mind wants to decay and rot.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a communist society at least I wouldnt have to worry about rent or food.

Wilbur