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truepennyI came up with this metaphor in a reply to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
matociquala, but I like it so much I'm going to stick it here, where I can find it.
My brain feels like a small, dim-witted furry animal that has just been used as a soccer ball by a bunch of Visigoths. I've crawled off quietly under a bush and am hoping they don't notice me before I catch my breath.
Will shortly skitter off into forest, not to be seen for some days.
[Revisionist version of my own fucked up metaphor. --Ed.]
[But the collective Visigoth noun question is still open.linithiliel has suggested a rampage of Visigoths, and I'd just thought of a pillage of Visigoths, but the polls are still open. --Ed.]
Every once in a while, one of these just emerges. Here's one I came up with my freshman (sophomore?) year of college, when I was despairing over linguistics:
This is still an exact and accurate summation of what that class was like.
Obviously, I spent the afternoon in the library. Slogged through more articles being variously intelligent and imbecilic about The Spanish Tragedy. Tomorrow's task--or even tonight, if my brain agrees to come out of the forest again--is to integrate all of this assorted stuff into my argument about the play. Slowly but surely, I will begin to look like I know what I'm talking about. Which is good, because pretty soon here I'm going to need to email my committee members ...
Oh shit.
An outside reader.
I forgot about the motherfucking outside reader.
Right. Email to dissertation director. Pronto.
fuck
[From "Obviously" on, this is 100% genuine stream of consciousness, proving that my mind is a dark and filthy place. --Ed.]
matociquala, but I like it so much I'm going to stick it here, where I can find it.My brain feels like a small, dim-witted furry animal that has just been used as a soccer ball by a bunch of Visigoths. I've crawled off quietly under a bush and am hoping they don't notice me before I catch my breath.
Will shortly skitter off into forest, not to be seen for some days.
[Revisionist version of my own fucked up metaphor. --Ed.]
[But the collective Visigoth noun question is still open.
linithiliel has suggested a rampage of Visigoths, and I'd just thought of a pillage of Visigoths, but the polls are still open. --Ed.]Every once in a while, one of these just emerges. Here's one I came up with my freshman (sophomore?) year of college, when I was despairing over linguistics:
Taking linguistics is like walking through a herd of small chartreuse yaks. The professor, a renowned yak tamer, bounds merrily along, addressing all the yaks by name, and from several yards ahead shouts back to you, "Come on! What are you waiting for?" You, on the ground with several small chartreuse yaks standing on your chest and making yak noises in your face, would love to shout to your professor for help, only you can't because you've got yak hair in your mouth.
This is still an exact and accurate summation of what that class was like.
Obviously, I spent the afternoon in the library. Slogged through more articles being variously intelligent and imbecilic about The Spanish Tragedy. Tomorrow's task--or even tonight, if my brain agrees to come out of the forest again--is to integrate all of this assorted stuff into my argument about the play. Slowly but surely, I will begin to look like I know what I'm talking about. Which is good, because pretty soon here I'm going to need to email my committee members ...
Oh shit.
An outside reader.
I forgot about the motherfucking outside reader.
Right. Email to dissertation director. Pronto.
fuck
[From "Obviously" on, this is 100% genuine stream of consciousness, proving that my mind is a dark and filthy place. --Ed.]
