I hate this shit so much. So next week is when I'll have my midterm exams, and they just said I need to write an actual test. I've been asking for a month what will happen and they only said it in the last fucking minute. Bullshit.
Already got most of the subjects I'll have to cover so it's just a question of how much I study, so I'll probably do a caffeine induced cram Friday-Saturday-Sunday. Then I can also study after the tests for the test that comes next day. Yay.
I handed in my essay on Chinese philosophy today. The teacher said it looks good at first glance. I wrote this by hand, and I hope the physical constraints had a positive effect on my style. It's also 5 pages long. (I re-read it and it sounded fresh and light in my opinion. I tried using really short sentences.)
I've worked on it all day yesterday. Re-read the Dao de jing (In English and Hungarian, so twice), the Lun Yu and I also read what von Glasenapp wrote on "Chinese universalism". Then I wrote the essay, sitting next to a tiny table on the ground, with my legs crossed for 3 hours, occasionally getting up to drink really badly made, overly sweet tea, or consulting any one of the texts I've had on my hand.
I felt thrilled. It was like as if I was a general, leading a winning battle.
From the first paragraph, you may gather that I've spent today in a haze of running up and down the hallways of the building, occasionally talking to someone, my hand on my head, whispering random profanities like "oh fuck" and "weareallgonnadie".
Despite this, I managed to utilize my 45 minutes long break and studied some hanzi.
>Stop sweating it Ernst, everything will be fine
>Have you came to know me as an anxious man?
I exclaimed jokingly. In reality I'm mortified. Especially because I wanted to prevent a situation like this where I have to study last minute.
On a more positive note, I met one of my cousins on the bus today, and we talked for a little. She's half-British, so I always assumed she spoke perfect English, which over the last years came to haunt as a sort of inadequacy about my own proficiency of the language. After a bit of talking she said that she did the high-level matura exam this year. She achieved this after doing the base level-exam last year as "practice". And while she said that she earned a percentage that was above 80% (Which is the official categorisation for "really fucking good"), she said that she still visited the English-classes of the school.
So I can forget about my perceived inadequacy, because not only I did the exam without doing the base level one first, I did it a year earlier than her and without visiting any of the English-classes in high school.
Of course I didn't tell her any of this, because it'd be really petty on my part, but this felt really fucking liberating to know.
Tomorrow I'll go home earlier if I can get my hands on the paper that I'll need, and then I'll be studying when I come home.
Feels like I'm taking emergency measures when it's already too late. Though it's probably just the right time.
Didn't read any of Kudrun today. I just wasn't in the mood for it. It's depressing. I hope I'll be finished with it by the end of the month.