I have a full-time course load and two paid jobs, but I decided -- perhaps I was hallucinating at the time -- that I'd do some volunteer work for Disability Services this term. They sent out a plea last week, and I felt... guilty? I'm not sure what my motivation was.
So now I have a little "job" recording books onto tape for visually impaired students. Unfortunately, one girl waited until the last minute to get a particular book done... ah, college... so I was up late reading out David Brock's Blinded by the Right into a little tape recorder.
It takes a long time to do this! And playing my voice back... is there anyone who doesn't hate the sound of their own voice?
At least it wasn't a biology textbook. And I do like the idea that I'm helping someone else who needs it.
Yesterday was an incredible day, intellectually speaking. My modernism class is amazing, more so because the prof (he of my bad Columbia interview) gives out these nuggets of analyses in the most off-hand, almost careless, fashion.
One of the texts for yesterday's class was a Forster short story, "The Life to Come". I had a very intense, positive, visceral reaction to it.
(Forster's novel Maurice and his posthumously published short stories are good gay reading, if you're looking for some.)
During class the prof drew out all of these connections to another well-known Forster novel, A Passage to India. I didn't even think about comparing the texts, but he tossed out all of these amazing bits of interpretation, as if he was thinking of them off of the top of his head.
I've rarely been so inspired in the classroom. It was very gratifying.
I am usually twenty-one going on forty. I like to think that it makes up for the times that I, through lack of experience, am twenty-one going on fifteen. But perhaps it does not.
I didn't know enough to know better.
For what it's worth, I apologize.