Confinement Day #6

I fear I am running out of 'mojo'. Good news, the intro is shaping up and almost good to go. Bad news, chapter 1 is in a mess and today marks the beginning of a nightmare. The Prof wrote to me today, and right at the start of the day which is a bad thing because it affected me the entire day - not physically but it (hang on, the phone is ringing) That was C. Yes, where was I, but it was at the back of my mind. I read the email at least 20 times, and I do not think it is possible for him to structure it in such a manner without some preknowledge of the fact that ET could have seen my draft. I fervently hope that the Prof will choose, and choose wisely, the person to examine my paper. I am reminded of those good old days when seemingly unqualified tutors had given me a mark I do not deserve; fortunately we get to appeal, and the course coordinator, normally the lecturer and professor of the faculty will be the one reviewing it, agrees with me. But all that trouble! If only my Prof could be the one examining it. They should make exceptions. Afterall, there isn't any one more qualified than him. Am I not analyzing xyz against a theory he built his career on? I doubt the appointed examiner would have deciphered his book the way I had - speaking of which, I realised that I actually enjoyed reading it now. Which is scary. (A) It means I understand it (B) It also means I am officially a transformed-geek. Today was terribly geekish, I planted myself at different parts of the house - first the dining table, then in front of the heater on the floor, then the garden table under the scorching sun, then back indoors on the mat, also under the sun, before finally on the couch. That's the position the landlord found me. She was back very early and instead of being over at-the-other-side cooking or doing what-nots, she was here at-this-side, boiling water, checking email and doing her what-nots. She said she came back early because she wasn't feeling well and did housework and so forth, so now she was going to prepare for bed. At 7. It was clear she dreaded work, she said as much, her expression said as much. D just msg me the same - that he must be undergoing mid-life crisis because he hated work. I guess the only work we could enjoy is work we don't get paid for. But then again, you can't call that work, even though it is. I am working. Very hard.