The Finals Frenzy

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Jumping up and down like a crazy person to Galaxies by Owl City. I am in complete infatuation with this song. I've had it on repeat for almost a week now. It's probably unhealthy, but I'm not looking to improve my health habits in the midst of all-nighters-and-fast-food-so-I-can-study-and-write-week. Yes. That's what it's called. Didn't you know? ANAFFSICSAWW. It's all over the news.
    Yeah, I totally changed the blog name and URL. I'm sorry, but I like this one much better, and I think it fits a little better. As you can probably tell, I have a thing for puns/playing-on-words (and with them, for that matter). Dang Write - Dang Right. And now The Soul, Unquiet Thing. It comes from a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge called "Frost At Midnight." Contextually, my title doesn't make much sense. But in my mind, it's perfect. Explanation:
    Here is the first stanza of the poem:

The Frost performs its secret ministry,

Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry

Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before.

The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,

Have left me to that solitude, which suits

Abstruser musings: save that at my side

My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.

'Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs

And vexes meditation with its strange

And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,

This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,

With all the numberless goings-on of life,

Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame

Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;

Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,

Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.

Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature

Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,

Making it a companionable form,

Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit

By its own moods interprets, every where

Echo or mirror seeking of itself,

And makes a toy of Thought.

    I realize this is a little heavy compared to my regular "I lost my car again" blog posts, but bear with me. I'm about to go all English major on you. The speaker of the poem is looking out at a silent winter night. Everything is completely still; everyone else in the house, the "inmates" are asleep. It's so calm and quiet that he can hardly thinK. Nothing moves, not even the flame in the fireplace - it burns without flickering. The only thing that moves at all is the "film, which fluttered on the grate, / still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing" (I even highlighted it for you - I know, I'm so good to you).  Because this "film" (which means a piece of soot) is the only other thing moving, it is a "companionable form" to the speaker, stirred by some "idling Spirit".
    The soul is a very unquiet thing, too. In fact, while some people can be very subdued and quiet, I can guarantee their soul has much to say. I know my soul isn't the "sole unquiet thing," but I'd like to think by being an "unquiet thing," my soul can be companionable to yours. :) Cheesy, I know, but get over it.

~

    Alright, now that you've had your daily learnin' from me, let's move on to less dense subjects. Like bubbles. (See what I did there? 'Cause bubbles aren't dense? Ha..) 

    This week and next week are my last two weeks of classes, and I'm kind of dying. I'm more or less a zombie. And with all these lovely storms ravaging the southeast, my internet and computer and printer decided to go on holiday. Convenient. Let's just run through my schedule for this week:

• Thursday: Massive research paper for English 2145 due at 9:30 (and I'm nowhere near finished) and Poetry Reading I, and decidedly smaller paper for World History due at 6:30 (only 1500 words, and I've done all the research. Cake.) also review day for WH Final
• Friday: work from 4-close (which will be around eleven once I finish closing)
• Saturday: special sekrit trip for book research. SO EXCITED!
• Sunday: Church. Work from 4-close (we close an hour earlier on Sundays, but will still be there until at least ten)
• Monday: Italian Final (I'm hoping for a C at least, and unfortunately that's wishful thinking), British Literature 1600-Present Survey Final. Work 4-close (around eleven)
• Tuesday: Reflective Essay for English 2145 due and Poetry Reading II, World History Final.

    If I'm a zombie now, imagine what I'll be by this time next week. Someone, please, have pity on this unfortunate unmentionable and cut off her head now while she can appreciate it.