I had my don rag today. I got my junior essay back, and my tutors commented on it. One seminar tutor said, "I was impressed by Mr. Green's understanding of Kant's logic, and his clarity was excellent." The other said, "I thought Mr. Green was very good at coving up the parts of Kant's arguments that he didn't understand, and he did this particularly with the logic." I don't know who was right.

My language tutor noticed that I was separated from the other students socially, but said that when I entered the conversation, we talked to each other well. What he doesn't know is that I despise the other students . . .

My lab tutor gave back my paper on James Clerk Maxwell. You may think I meant "Clark", but indeed, his middle name is Clerk. This should be a lesson to us all. My tutor thought my paper was incomplete. Perhaps this is because the paper is incomplete. I lost some sleep over it so I could say I tried. It was written between 3 and 5 a.m. Wes was able to give me just enough insight into the electro-magnetic theory of light for me to produce three pages on a treatise thousands of pages long.

And math.
And math.
And math.

It's surprising. I did well in math. I was told that I ought to trust myself more on the complicated proofs, as in Newton. This despite the fact that he only thinks I would do well because I understand calculus, which is like thinking that because I understand how to govern a flashlight, I should trust myself to be a Senator.

Oh, and then the ship finally came to dock, and walking off the deck came Bob Dylan. He lit a cigarette, donned his sunglasses, and smiled. I have no more classes, and the Dylan in me is happy.