I am being haunted.
Not by anything as simple or interesting as ghosts. By something much worse:
At one time I thought that this was merely a category, one of those things that everyone needs to deep their toes into a few times in order to be real, complete human being. I even thought that I would like to dedicate my life to living in this world of “academia”.
Little did I know that it was, in essence, a poltergeist.
A creature that lurks in the corner of my bedroom and jumps at me with claws outstretched!!!
Unfortunately, I have many, many stacks of books scattered around my room, so the darn thing has many places to hide. I do not have enough book-shelves. So instead, I make neat little stacks around the edges of my room. Each stack is categorized by class, specific themes, which essay they are going to be cited in, what I am reading at the moment, etc.
These stacks last about eight hours.
Eight hours after I have cleaned my room and organized my stacks of books, Chaos – otherwise known as Academia – descends. Life gets in the way of organization.
Hey, I need that book that is at the bottom of that stack in the corner! You know, behind the other stacks!
This accounts for why my Terry Pratchett ending up in my collection of criticism on Utopia, for Rabelais landing on top of Jane Austen, and even partly why I have an empty beer bottle currently on my desk.
But does not quite explain my nightmares.
Earlier this semester I dreamt that I going to Russia as mail-order bride because I could not face the humiliation of being kicked out of school.
I dreamt that my house burned down and I was weeping because I had a paper due and all my notes were burned up!
This past week, as I was struggling though one particularly painful academic essay, I dreamt that all my clothes were suddenly riddled with holes, and I had nothing decent in which to appear in public!
I think the last one was an expression of how vulnerable essays make me feel. Academic essays.
And then last night I had the worst one of all.
I had just handed in an essay on Thomas More’s Utopia, and was glad to be done with it despite the fact that I could not find good criticism of it to use. Seriously, most Utopia criticism is laughable.
But in the dark, when I finally closed my eyes and drifted into the those sweet loving arms of Morpheus, Academia jumped!
That . . . that . . . sceadugenga!
I dreamt that I found the perfect work of criticism. It dealt with everything that I had written about in the essay, broke down the ironies with which that I had been struggling, and it even had an in-depth analysis of the Utopian “poem” from the index! Just what I had been looking for this whole time!
I remember holding that book in my hands, and feeling the sickening horror in the pit of my stomach as I realized, “My paper is already submitted. I cannot use this now. It came a day too late.”
The pain . . . . . it was immense. Even for dream-land, this was cruel!
Only Academia can create such dread, such anguish.
Do not be drawn in by this monster!
You will never have a good night’s rest again!!!