I am in the inbetweeny position of having handed in my essay on Jane Eyre, having not started my next essay and having the 'calm before the storm' frame of mind that occurs when I haven't got my marked essay back. At this moment my next essay could be brilliant. My last essay might have been brilliant. Nobody yet knows and the ignorance is bliss.
Of course, underneath the calm exterior all hell is letting loose. I fully expect to receive an even worse mark for the essay I've just handed in than I did for the first one. Whereas last year I was pleasantly surprised and my marks got better and better, this year is proving increasingly difficult.
I am not being humbly modest here. I truly believe the essay I wrote to be a pile of old rubbish. Being in the OU means that one is working alone and this year I am finding it very difficult to keep motivated. I wrote my introduction and was quite pleased with it until I went back a couple of days later, reread it and realised that what I had written was drivel...
The real shame is that I love all the books on my course, but doing the course means that I cannot read them for pleasure. They have to be dissected, analysed, noted. I cannot remember the last time I read a book for pleasure, without having to take notes, read background and critical essays. Its a load of old tosh and I am not enjoying it.
Hopefully things will pick up, but my plans to finish the Degree, do Teacher Training and become a Primary school teacher seem distant and faintly ridiculous. I am not feeling sorry for myself - this is just a statement of fact. I will deal with it, get over it, do my best with the course and hopefully, one day, teach. I may, however, be 104 before that happens.