At long last, classes are done and the blissful fortnight of peace and tranquility has arrived, bringing with it relief from long days of toil, the promise of adventure, and freedom from late nights and early mornings. Ah, spring break! Never hath a fortnight been so welcome.
[It may be of some interest that the University attempts to maintain the three-term system in two semesters: much to the confusion of all, the spring semester is divided into two terms.]
This Monday past I had my last Old English class and the final exam, of which I am well pleased of my performance, and expect a favourable result. In the subsequent scramble to finish The Bruce and prepare for the presentation on Tuesday, I was grateful that my section was not actually required of me, and yet was still capable of adding to the discussion at various points. Immediately after resumed my adventures in Inglode, or Logres, the realm of Camelot, where time and space are as ambiguous as characters’ motives and origins, with the intent of seeing King Arthur dead by Thursday. It is Thursday. Arthur is dead. All hail the most courteous of lords, the Once and Future King.
As evidence that friends can still influence each other when 4483.193 miles apart, as the crow flies, I wish to read To Say Nothing of the Dog. Though in honor of the Sigma Tau Delta convention, perhaps I should read Neverwhere. Mesemeth I should read Le Guin, and call it even.
I realized yesterday that it may actually have been possible for me to attend this year’s Sigma Tau Delta convention in Minneapolis. I could have seen Neil Gaiman. Granted, it would have been a hasty visit to the home country, a fortnight at best, and the probability of completing the ever important research proposal would have been slim. Nevertheless: Neil Gaiman. I shall live vicariously through Sarah and eagerly await my signed copy of The Graveyard Book.
Hunger calls, food beckons, and Felicity awaits. I must away, er hunger doth me sle.