Wit & Whim

I love the fall. Brisk temperatures, crisp smells, and dead spiders and wasps. Nature throwing one last opulent soiree before it slides into dormancy. Excellent sleeping weather too, you know. I can now wear a shirt for hours on end without breaking into a sweat. Better still, I now get to bring out my comfortable and flattering fall wardrobe. Sweaters, turtlenecks, jackets, hmm, yes, fall is good. Had school today as usual, except that my comp was canceled because my prof had a sick kiddo. Other than that little blip, I think it all went well today. Really need to get my butt into gear with my short story, but inspiration is yet to strike. Now I just need to slap together a presentation on Fort Leavenworth. That'll be a cinch. An interactive presentation that includes handouts and powerpoint and amuses the wiseguy sergeant. Sgt. Seitz is pretty decent though.

I feel much better now that I have my first history exam out of the way. I do not think that I will get better than a B on this exam, but I now know what I'm in for with successive tests and just what I'll need to do. There is a comfort that comes with getting that first experience out of the way. It is not as though I had no time for blogging, it was just the restlessness of an impending challenge that drove me from my blog. Now that I have faced the challenge, have it's measure, I feel that I can really master the next one. German made more sense today than it has in a week. Suspect coffee and sleep levels may be involved. Will have team do research on this. Composition...Professor Moore is required to teach grammar during at least one class per semester. It turns out that I am one of a couple people in her class who has used even a single semicolon in their work thus far. I received my first first journal grade that was not a 10/10. At the same time, she also said that m

This day is a good day. I got my graded worksheets from my German exam; thereon, in the blood red scrawl of an editors ink I see a number. 94. Does not the sun shine brighter than it did this morning?

I know the last thing I really need is an ego massage, but I take immense satisfaction from the recent trends I've noticed in my History class and in my composition and German classes. My professors have this odd tendency of asking the class questions, not always simple questions. My classmates have been responding to the professors' troubling habits by adopting the approach of staring at the floor, or sometimes even their textbooks. There is now a little routine that has developed, my professors will ask their question and then, after 10-15 seconds of pregnant pause, turn and ask me directly. I admit, I revel in the opportunity to show off without sounding like an insufferable know-it-all. I get the satisfaction of answering all the questions without having to dance around with my hand in the air; this is because my previous intelligent answers now ensure that the questions come to me. I manage a reputation for being the smartest and I maintain universal popularity amongst my

In composition class my professor assigned a literacy narrative, a brief telling of an event, or series of events, that shaped the way we looked at and dealt with the English language. I wrote about the first book I ever read, Harry Potter. My verbiages in that draft contain greater eloquence than will ever issue forth from my lips. I was incredibly pleased with it because, though it has a few copy errors here and there, it is good and it is mine. I will admit, even in a rough draft I demand that segments of my phrasing be just so. Though the whole process was relatively short I was always careful to use the right word, or the right phrase, the wrong word simply would not do. I placed a considerable piece of myself into that piece, which is only fitting in a piece I write about me. But now there is an issue. For the final draft I am supposed to do some pretty radical revision. It is not that my piece was not good, on the contrary, my peers and professor loved it. But the second half of

There was no difficulty naming my blog because the name is the force that inspired me to create the blog. The warm sun baking my skin, Dostoevsky forgotten for a moment, I allowed my mind to wander and it wasted no time ushering in my daydreams, which slowly wended their way into memory. As I sat up, licking my dry lips, it struck me just how fast Whims can run away with you and all the odd little places they have the power to take you. This is not a new revelation; I have long since come to terms with the knowledge that whims are the most powerful creatures in the world. But their strength and prowess astound me anew each time that I encounter them. It is as Jonathan and I documented some long time ago; Wit and Whim may often be complimentary forces, but Whim holds the mastery. Whim is easily my favorite word and holds fountains of meaning for me. But how did Wit come into all this? Is this boy so arrogant that he should declare himself a Wit? Probably. But Wit does not enter this pic