That Hideous Strength
I'm not graduating from college.
Let me repeat that. I'm not graduating from college.
Five years, plus two summer terms, and here I am. I've gotten a D+ in my math class. Now, normally, this would allow someone to squeak by with a passing grade. Unfortunately, I had the overwhelming foresight to take the course Pass/Fail, which requires a C- for a passing grade. I'm a grand total of about six points away. Six points.
So what does this translate into? A consuming fire within my soul, fueling a rage that you don't want anything to do with. What else does it translate into? A summer spent in the classroom, taking the same math course all over again. That's right: two hours of Arabic, followed by an hour of math, every day, plus continued work on all of those papers that I have yet to finish. Then I get to go to work.
Oh, and did I mention that the money to pay for retaking the course gets to come directly out of my own pocket? Bollocks, eh?
A lesser man would have topped himself; fortunately or unfortunately, I am a veritable Superman, a drosophilic wonder of strength, distinction, and perseverence that prevents eventual failure. It's that hideous strength that forces me on, though a lesser man would come to grips with his failure, and fail.
After five years, seventeen academic quarters, it's absolutely horrific to have my triumph snatched back from me at the last possible moment. I literally found out while I was watching the commencement ceremony on television. How's that for broadcast violence?
And what's the drawback for you, the valued reader? At least two more months before I relocate, and thus at least two more months before you find out where I was in the first place.
Leave me encouragement. I need it.
Let me repeat that. I'm not graduating from college.
Five years, plus two summer terms, and here I am. I've gotten a D+ in my math class. Now, normally, this would allow someone to squeak by with a passing grade. Unfortunately, I had the overwhelming foresight to take the course Pass/Fail, which requires a C- for a passing grade. I'm a grand total of about six points away. Six points.
So what does this translate into? A consuming fire within my soul, fueling a rage that you don't want anything to do with. What else does it translate into? A summer spent in the classroom, taking the same math course all over again. That's right: two hours of Arabic, followed by an hour of math, every day, plus continued work on all of those papers that I have yet to finish. Then I get to go to work.
Oh, and did I mention that the money to pay for retaking the course gets to come directly out of my own pocket? Bollocks, eh?
A lesser man would have topped himself; fortunately or unfortunately, I am a veritable Superman, a drosophilic wonder of strength, distinction, and perseverence that prevents eventual failure. It's that hideous strength that forces me on, though a lesser man would come to grips with his failure, and fail.
After five years, seventeen academic quarters, it's absolutely horrific to have my triumph snatched back from me at the last possible moment. I literally found out while I was watching the commencement ceremony on television. How's that for broadcast violence?
And what's the drawback for you, the valued reader? At least two more months before I relocate, and thus at least two more months before you find out where I was in the first place.
Leave me encouragement. I need it.
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