At this stage, I'm just going through the motions, really. This is the part where I dread turning up to uni. I have grown to despise every single paper and presentation that I have to work on. Everyday I wake up expecting that it's already the second week of June, when I can finally have that celebratory drink of vodka. Last week I was suffering from panic attacks and indescribable stress. But now more than ever, I think I've already reached the point where I've stopped caring about marks and GPAs and things. Well, not really. I'd still sell a kidney to get top marks, but I guess I've just lost all energy to try harder. This has been my worst semester (academically speaking) and I have just been turning in such a lackluster performance it's embarrassing.
I'm reminded of this episode from Steven Spielberg's Amazing Stories, which I thoroughly enjoyed as a kid. There was this African-American TV series writer who just lost his muse one day and his brains ran dry of funny things to write for his comedies. He fell asleep on the typewriter one night and his potted plant finished the screenplay for him. The plant did a pretty awesome job too, catapulting the ratings of the show. Sigh. Guess it's time to scour Sydney nurseries for wonderplants like that.
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