A good day

Well, today, on the whole, generally speaking, as a rule of thumb, as the crow flies, whence coming from whence it came, thenceforth and thusly, tumpty-tumpty-tumpty-tum, has been, as such and suchforth, quite an acceptable day. The assignment for LCI21 is done, and by ingo it feels good to have got it done. This leaves only three: one each for HST220, NET11 and NET12. The one for HST220 is only supposed to take 90 minutes (although I need to do some reading before I attempt it), and the other two are not excessively long essays. So things are looking good!

I can never do these things as fast as I hope. Despite this, LIC21 is done, and there is a feeling of satisfaction in that it didn't drag on forever. Maybe it will be marked badly. Maybe it is a load of pointless drivel. Maybe it will be my first assignment to be marked in the negatives. I don't care; I sat down and I got it done.

So now I am free to get on with it.

Actually, I am looking forward to doing the reading for HST220; it should be interesting. Likewise, NET11's essay doesn't look too bad! NET12 will probably be a little trickier in some ways. It is more ethereal, and my mind doesn't work in ethereal ways. Non concrete things, such as poetry, just don't make sense; I just don't get them! (This doesn't count for Pam Ayers, Roald Dahl or Dr. Thuess). This is very much an Asperger's thing. But is it an indictment on my writing?

You see, when I was studying LCS16 (which had a lot of work on poetry) I really struggled - i.e., walking up and down the hallway spasmodically and saying loudly in a frustrated tone, "This is stupid!". In one of the readings it said that metaphor was the key to poetry. Now seeing as me and poetry (apart from humourous rhyme, which is rather down on the metaphor-count) don't see eye to eye, and metaphor is supposed to also be a powerful part of all writing (especially to literary studies lecturors who can pull the most amazing metaphors out of classical literature), is my writing going to lack something?

Once again, the scary head of Asperger's raises itself and casts a shadow over my life. But oh well, I am how I am, and I would just consider myself metaphorically-challeneged if I had never heard of Asperger's, so what difference does it make? About as much difference as a pig and a medical laboritry (that was simile, not metaphor; me and simile are good mates).

Maybe story can be lost in metaphor (I think even Yeats may have made this point about his own poems later in his career; he had hidden the message so deeply in the metaphorical ehteralism that most people had no idea what he was going on about!). Well, it's times like this I need to read my own writing and do a JRR; start to know that it is good again. Sure, it has problems. Sure, it needs editing - the third pearl in the writers' jewels. But it is good.

I'll get by.

Golly, it's getting on, and I want to get a lot done tomorrow, so I better go. I need to get a couple of assignments done tomorrow, because on Friday I have the Writers' Festival in Melbourne. My eyes are starting to droop, and my bed is calling to me softly, "Come home, come home, come home...."

Goodnight.