walkingshadow | study habits? we don't have no steenking study habits...

I'm pretty much physically incapable of studying in my own room. Because, first of all, there's a computer here. Aside from that most damning temptation (the Internet can and has been know to slurp entire days out of my life), there's not enough desk space; and there are CDs to make, and dishes to do when I get really desperate, and, I don't know, floor space to pace around on instead of actually opening textbooks and reading them. But I have three finals leering at me from the end of the week and I need As on them, so I trotted this afternoon to Library West and settled myself on the fifth floor, where I feel most at home. The object is to minimize or eliminate the distractions as much as possible, to only what I generate myself between wandering streams of consciousness and fits of concentrated doodling. So. Silent floor, plain wood desk, blank white wall in front of me, and the nearest fellow students eight desks away in either direction. I still spent about an hour per chapter on sensory processes, but at least it got done.

Process repeats tomorrow with astronomy. The class and professor were so boring I was always playing musical geography or almost falling asleep or sending myself into a doodling fugue state out of pure self-preservation; we'll see if the book's any better.

I'm making it my business to get to the Hopper exhibit at the Harn before I leave, since it'll be gone when we come back in the spring; the weather's gorgeous enough that I think I wouldn't even mind the walk over. Every time I remember it, I automatically think of Atlanta's High Museum and the Impressionists I'll hopefully be checking out in January when I get to see

silentfire (insert maniacal dance of joy at the prospect). Don't all wrestle me for my bus ticket at once, but feel free to get in line. Erika thinks I could take you.

It'll be interesting to watch the campus get progressively emptier as the week goes on. They're holding aerobics classes until the end, but I imagine their populations will eventually dwindle to nothing. Santa had us doing throw-downs again today, and my partner was slow in getting up from the mat; I asked if she'd hurt her leg, but she just said I was strong. I resisted the impulse to ask, "Ah, but am I strong like bull?" and fall to the floor giggling. There. You can be my mirth receptacle.