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I went to my Greek prof's office hours today to ask for some help on doing research, which she was enormously helpful with. And then I ended up sort of fretting at her about my fears regarding graduate school: namely, that I might not be able to get into the program I want, on account of having taken so many undergrad classes (though not all!) in the same department.
She kindly agree that those were valid fears and it would definitely reduce my chances.
I really do admire my Greek prof: she's sympathetic and helpful, and that keeps her absolute honesty about these things from being brutal. Sometimes I'd like a rather more gently nurturing approach, but...false hope and false expectations don't help anyone, eh?
On the way out of class this afternoon, she was speaking with another classmate about graduate school in general. The question was, how many lines should I expect to be doing in graduate school, compared to now? And there was some waffling back and forth on the number of lines, but a fairly clear answer overall of, "In graduate school you should expect to spend about 50-60 hours a week in classes and related work."
I am so doomed.
So, speaking of doom! Have some more Electra-and-friends.
Chorus: Softly, softly, step your shoes down with a light footstep, lest we make a clamor.
Electra: Walk to that place far away, far away from the bed, please.
Chorus: Look, I'm obeying!
Electra: Ah, ah! Speak like the breath of a flute, a delicate reed, please.
Chorus: Look, I carry my voice like a gentle reed!
Electra: Yes, like that. Draw in, draw in, approach softly, go softly; give me your reason that you've now come; for this fallen man sleeps at last.
Chorus: How is he? Share the news, darling. What would I say of his fate? And what of his misfortune?
Electra: He's still breathing, but in shallow groaning.
Chorus: What do you say? The poor wretch!
Electra: You'll cause destruction, if you rouse his eyes from the sleep carrying sweetest respite.
Chorus: Miserable from the deeds most hated by the gods, the wretch.
Electra: Alas, for his troubles. Unjust, he cried, he cried those injustices, that after murder, on the tripod of Themis Loxias passed sentence for my mother's death.
Chorus: Do you see? His body moves within the blankets.
Electra: Wretched woman, you tossed him from sleep now by making noise.
Chorus: But I think he's sleeping.
Electra: Won't you turn yourself away from us, away from our house, and take your feet back up where you came, leaving off this noise?
Chorus: He's sleeping.
Electra: That's good, what you say.
Lady, Lady Night, sleep-giver for much-suffering mortals, come from dark Erebus, come, winged one, to the house of Agamemnon. For we have gone through suffering, we have gone under misfortune--ah! you made noise!
Won't you go softly, softly, guarding yourself against mouth-noise near the bed, for his quiet respite of sleep, my friend?
Chorus: Cry out what end to his troubles awaits!
Electra: To die; what else do I say? For he has no longing for food.
Chorus: His fate is clear.
Electra: Phoebus sacrificed us, when he appointed that wretched murder of the blood of our mother, murderer of our father.
Chorus: Justly.
Electra: But not righteously.
You killed, you died, O mother who bore me; after you destroyed my father, then you destroyed these children of your own blood. We destroy ourselves in equal death, we destroy ourselves.
For you are among the corpses, and the full measure of my life spends itself in weeping and wailing and tears at night; wretched, I drag my life always through time, unmarried and still childless.
Chorus: Maiden Electra, since you're nearby, check to see if your brother there has died unnoticed. For I'm not pleased with how much he's failing.
Orestes: Beloved charm of sleep, defending against sickness, how sweet to me your approach, in the midst of my need. Lady Lethe of evils, how wise you are, a goddess for the misfortunate to beseech. ...from where did I go to come here? How did I arrive? For I'm forgetful, abandoned by the mind I had before.
She kindly agree that those were valid fears and it would definitely reduce my chances.
I really do admire my Greek prof: she's sympathetic and helpful, and that keeps her absolute honesty about these things from being brutal. Sometimes I'd like a rather more gently nurturing approach, but...false hope and false expectations don't help anyone, eh?
On the way out of class this afternoon, she was speaking with another classmate about graduate school in general. The question was, how many lines should I expect to be doing in graduate school, compared to now? And there was some waffling back and forth on the number of lines, but a fairly clear answer overall of, "In graduate school you should expect to spend about 50-60 hours a week in classes and related work."
I am so doomed.
So, speaking of doom! Have some more Electra-and-friends.
Chorus: Softly, softly, step your shoes down with a light footstep, lest we make a clamor.
Electra: Walk to that place far away, far away from the bed, please.
Chorus: Look, I'm obeying!
Electra: Ah, ah! Speak like the breath of a flute, a delicate reed, please.
Chorus: Look, I carry my voice like a gentle reed!
Electra: Yes, like that. Draw in, draw in, approach softly, go softly; give me your reason that you've now come; for this fallen man sleeps at last.
Chorus: How is he? Share the news, darling. What would I say of his fate? And what of his misfortune?
Electra: He's still breathing, but in shallow groaning.
Chorus: What do you say? The poor wretch!
Electra: You'll cause destruction, if you rouse his eyes from the sleep carrying sweetest respite.
Chorus: Miserable from the deeds most hated by the gods, the wretch.
Electra: Alas, for his troubles. Unjust, he cried, he cried those injustices, that after murder, on the tripod of Themis Loxias passed sentence for my mother's death.
Chorus: Do you see? His body moves within the blankets.
Electra: Wretched woman, you tossed him from sleep now by making noise.
Chorus: But I think he's sleeping.
Electra: Won't you turn yourself away from us, away from our house, and take your feet back up where you came, leaving off this noise?
Chorus: He's sleeping.
Electra: That's good, what you say.
Lady, Lady Night, sleep-giver for much-suffering mortals, come from dark Erebus, come, winged one, to the house of Agamemnon. For we have gone through suffering, we have gone under misfortune--ah! you made noise!
Won't you go softly, softly, guarding yourself against mouth-noise near the bed, for his quiet respite of sleep, my friend?
Chorus: Cry out what end to his troubles awaits!
Electra: To die; what else do I say? For he has no longing for food.
Chorus: His fate is clear.
Electra: Phoebus sacrificed us, when he appointed that wretched murder of the blood of our mother, murderer of our father.
Chorus: Justly.
Electra: But not righteously.
You killed, you died, O mother who bore me; after you destroyed my father, then you destroyed these children of your own blood. We destroy ourselves in equal death, we destroy ourselves.
For you are among the corpses, and the full measure of my life spends itself in weeping and wailing and tears at night; wretched, I drag my life always through time, unmarried and still childless.
Chorus: Maiden Electra, since you're nearby, check to see if your brother there has died unnoticed. For I'm not pleased with how much he's failing.
Orestes: Beloved charm of sleep, defending against sickness, how sweet to me your approach, in the midst of my need. Lady Lethe of evils, how wise you are, a goddess for the misfortunate to beseech. ...from where did I go to come here? How did I arrive? For I'm forgetful, abandoned by the mind I had before.
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She kindly agree that those were valid fears and it would definitely reduce my chances.
Eek! Why would that be a problem?
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But it's not like I could take third-year Greek and Latin anywhere else in the city, either.
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