i hate my english class. all the 380 series are profoundly unsatisfying because they are huge surverys with heavy reading loads and no depth and involve sections and a great deal of tiny time consuming and unfulfilling assignments. and 382 - is especially so because of the number of periods involved. and to take it at this time or stage of my school life - in the final semester and having taken exciting classes early on - makes me dislike it even more. not because the teachers are not the best you could have, or that your graduate instructors are not also enthusiastic and smart, but i hate it so much that i gave up on it almost right at the beginning of the semester. and although i knew i was dissatisfied i - i didn't have to think about it. and now the full force of its horridness is in my face. and it isn't just the - class it's - how i hate the exam structure there are 58 authors on the syllabus. 58! how would you even get a grasp on any of them. and they're from way too many periods. not that i think the 380 series should be split into 4 classes. 3 is tedious enough. but, medieval to renaissance is rather contained, provided you don't wander off to other european literatures. and the 20th century is bewildering enough with the proliferation of world literature in english, but even then, there is still some coherence there. to stuff the early18th century together with romantics *and* victorians into one class, with miscellaneous other minor movements in between, and the literature in both britain and america, is that mad or what? your mind is asked to understand too many different things and you don't have the benefit of them being separate classes to really get a grip on any of them. and then guess what is on the bloody exam? timelines and broad essays on transition between cultural movements w.r.t 2 or 3 works. how can i even begin?! we read one tennyson and a few brownings and then we are expected to write about the victorians? no essays! no novels! and not even much of the other poetry. and suddenly we're experts on victorian literature and can write about the transition from romantics to victorians. how can you even feel like you can begin.

and my classmates too. i hate them. as individuals? no, they've been sweet friendly fun people. but there is something that wells up in me - some black poisonous anger that is unfair and frighteningly nasty and unlike me but also - true - in a way. i hate them because they are so earnest and so sure of themselves. knowing so little and yet talking as though they know so much, and i feel as though i know nothing and yet more than they do, and yet they're the ones who are able to write straightforward solidly self-assured safe competent essays that are mostly right but what's there to be wrong and yet sometimes ridiculously off the point but in all cases do what has to be done and are rewarded amply. and i can't write because there is so much doubt and uncertainty and lack of knowledge and needing to think hard and be original and trying to do more and all that is just unrecognised and in fact detrimental.

this is the most poisonously angry entry i've ever written isn't it? just striking out at everyone and at myself, though none of them, not the course nor the class nor anyone has done anything it is not their fault and no one deserves my unreasonable anger i'm being unfair and meaning to be nasty but i do hate them so i do i hate this class i do and even now the vehemence that i feel shocks me and i know too it's not right and yet.