I am currently avoiding reading for the worst subject in the history of the universe: Chaucer. Although no one knows for certain how Chaucer died, scholars believe there is a possibility he was murdered. I haven't a doubt in my mind this is true. In fact, maybe I'm the one who did it! Maybe sometime in the future, I'll be part of a "Time Machine" research program, I'll volunteer to be a pioneer, and then I'll end up killing Chaucer because he almost killed me when I was in school. An eye for an eye, right? (Wishful thinking...I know.)
These last few weeks have been some of the hardest of my life. Not necessarily "horrible." Difficult? YOU BET! After researching, writing, presenting, and defending my senior thesis, I do not care about The Secret Garden or archetypes or Carl Jung or comma splices or long rambling sentences that never seem to end despite the fact the writer made her point way back at the beginning of the thought. I sit here and complain about the work that everyone has had to do, but I shouldn't be so negative when our professors had to read and comment on the first couple of drafts we cranked out whilst jacked up on coffee, cashews, and carbonated beverages. Anyway, I am so glad that I have people in my life who love and care about me enough to correct me--or ask me to redo something when they know I can do better. I am quite proud of the work I have been able to accomplish (although not without tears and LOTS of prayer).In other news: I finally got a diagnosis! A diagnosis I have felt certain about for several years, now. I have a problem with doctors telling me that "it's just in my head." (I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling this way!) The only downside is having medicine that makes me so darn tired! I may have to start drinking motor oil to stay awake...and by "motor oil" I mean "coffee."
Oral Exam. [Cue dirge] The oral exam was death. Imagine a dimly lit room with dark shadows lurking in the corners. A trickle of water from the leaking pipes above running down the wall. The lone window with cracked and dangerous glass protruding is so dirty that no sunlight graces the bare earthen floor. And a single, swinging light bulb casting shadows along the ocher walls (which were once white before the mold overtook them)...What you just imagined is a five-star hotel compared to that wretched room! 
Thank goodness the Good Lord didn't see it fit that I should literally die from such experience (although, I'm sure people have). In my short years upon this earth, I have done plenty of extemporaneous speaking. Most of the time such "interviews" are a lot of BS, but at least, they were about topics I felt confident. Alas, with intense stares from piercing-blue-eyes-that-can-see-to-the-very-depths-of-your-soul (somewhat similar to Dumbledore's eyes), it became next to impossible to create coherent sentences. I purposefully wore a long necklace with chunky beads so that nervous energy would abandon my tear ducts and move to my fingers. (Note to self: Try this strategy again! Twas a success indeed!) I am quite thankful the whole experience is finished! It was just another reminder that I am NOT cut out for doctoral work. When I scooped myself off the floor and left the room, I was so thankful that I actually LIKE my content area, but little did I know that in a few short days the saddest event in my life would take place. To quote Biron, "The scene begins to cloud."
After a lovely Tuesday evening with two dear friends, I left campus around 12:30 am. I don't often leave that late, but I it was too good of quality time to walk away. The moon was beautiful even though the night was chilly; I should have known the moon plays tricks on people. On my way home, I witnessed an unusual sight. Several deer decided to have a "sit-in" (stand-in?) to protest modern technology and infrastructure, but instead of a peaceful protest, it turned violent. One massive doe decided to sacrifice her body on the hood of my car to prove her ultimate hatred of humanity. The protest was broken up immediately. The doe ran away unscathed, but my poor Skylark did not fare so well. The Skylark died thanks to Debbie the Deer at 12:42. After I stopped screaming like a 12 year old girl watching "Scream" for the first time, I called my parents. Thus was the end of the Skylark.
I feel like I should show an emotional reel of pictures of my car set to some super sappy song. "I will remember you....Will you remember me? Don't let your life pass you by...." [sigh]
This post is dedicated to the memory of The 1995 Skylark. RIP 4/28/10 12:42am. "It's been a wild ride, friend." Feel free to mourn as you will. It's okay to have a moment of silence, dear reader, before moving on to the next blog. I understand.
