For the past two months, I've been sloshed, waist-deep in the dark loch of Spenser, Milton, and Austin. Though it's been an increible learning experience - I feel as though I now have some sort of expertise in the realm of British Literature - it's also been very tiring. And, ultimately futile.
Yes, futile. I am studying for a test in order to do well on a test. I am infatuated with names, dates, character names, and critical movements. Any semblance of plot or style must be summarized in a simple sentence. As for appreciation of art, ha!
While I can understand how a foundation in the history and classical works of English Literature is important to one who intends to study English, this one is taking it too far! I feel smarter, but dumber. I know more, but my skill and appreciation wanes. I feel as though I will need a detoxification when this is over. I'll march to the Library, find a dark and dusty corner, and then cuddle around a stack of Vonnegut.
Once that's over, (finally) back to writing. GRE, give me my life back!
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