etoille

Last night, I pulled my first all-nighter of the semester. My record for the highest number of all-nighters in one semester is 11. Lowest is 5. Average is 7-8. So last night was #1, which gets more depressing the earlier it is in the semester, and I think week #3 is pretty sad.

But here's the kicker: I spent all night reading Descartes' "Discours de la Methode", and writing a ten-page paper about it. This is for my thesis, which I was planning to do on the movement of French philosophical thought between Descartes, through French interpretations of Hegel, and in modern, literary forms such as Raymond Queneau. So I had a great start with an awesome exegesis / formation of argument about Descartes.

...Mind you, I hate Descartes - especially reading him. I read the entire book in one day, which is pretty annoying / maddening.

So today, I had a meeting with my professor which I assumed would go something like this...
Prof: How's your thesis coming along?
Me: Great! Here's my first ten pages examining Descartes.
Prof: Oh wow! You did philosophy in French! Good job. Way to kick some academic ass.

However, this is how it actually went...
Prof: ...Oh. You just wrote a philosophy paper, but in French.
Me: Well, yeah...
Prof: Well, that's not a thesis. It has to be more cohesive.
Me: What do you mean?
Prof: You need to be reading Descartes through a Queneau-style lens.
Me: What?
Prof: It's a literary analysis, not philosophical.
Me: *fuck.me.hard.*

Then I came home, napped, showered, and am in the middle of cleaning my apartment. It's payday, and I'm probably going to go shopping. You know, drown my academic worries in good ol' capitalist consumption.

Oh yeah, I straightened my hair the other day (it's usually really curly) and realized how long it is. This simply amazes me. I don't understand how I didn't actually know how long my hair was, or moreover that I was just so stunned. Insane.