Little knowledge is a dangerous thing

I think it's quite normal to lose your motivation and question your choices. I am facing that situation right now. Why on Earth should I be studying English language and literature at the master's programme? I feel that this is all so completely useless and quite detached from reality (which is probably why I like(d) it in the first place).

I have a professor who claims that after learning about statistics, she didn't touch the topic for years. Now there she is standing in front of the lecture hall and arguing how you can almost always use the t-test. Maybe it's the same with me... I feel completely uninspired at the moment but ten years from now... Yeah, baby!
I've really started to dread the contemporary fiction seminars. It should be all my subject matter. British fiction published since the 1980s? I should be thrilled! Alas, I am not. The reading matter is wonderful, I have not a single word of criticism to say about that. I've just grown so tired from reading so deeply into the book.
"I see the author has used this word here. What could it mean?"
Really? I have no idea. My money is on the fact that if you asked any particular author, 98% of the times they have a suspiciously similar answer. (And no, I did not use the t-test to check that percentage.)

The best way to kill all the joy of something is to dissect it and analyse every single detail of it. I still like books. I'm just tired of being on my toes all the time to find a meaning hidden behind it. I miss reading literature just for the sake of it, now I keep analysing everything. It doesn't help when you have been taught all kinds of cool theories (which, by the way, I am not criticising, since most of them really are cool in their own freaky way). I find it hard to explain it in words (because after all, language is imperfect but that's the only thing we've got, so we need to roll with it) but there is some hidden resistance in me against what I am doing. I don't want to speak up at the literature seminars anymore (and usually I don't have to because of our extremely active and talkative course) because I feel like there is nothing I want to say about these works of fiction that we read, except for maybe "I liked it, it was really nice to read." Something inside me refuses to analyse, I feel like I am just raping the poor author by reading stuff into their words that they might not even be aware of.

Some of these days I think about just quitting and opting for a teacher training instead. At least it's something more practical and easily applicable in a non-academic word. What use is it in the real world to claim "I've read some Derrida" or "Don't you find Angela Carter's rewriting of fairy tales just fascinating!" Again, don't get me wrong... although I can approximately understand 0.5% of the stuff Derrida is talking about, I like and agree with that 0.5% and Carter really seems fascinating to read. It all just boils down to this age old question: "What's the point of it all?"

I need to be reinspired. I need to start believing again in what I am doing. I need to find discussing literature fascinating once again. Or else I need to find some public school and be the next John Keating.

Edit added weeks later:
Another reason why I dislike discussing literature. I am right now supposed to be writing my presentation on the wonderful novel by Salman Rushdie called The Satanic Verses. Really, a brilliant book and I so enjoyed reading it. And my presentation, what is that about then? Well, prepared to be amazed (*sarcastic smile*): the mixture of classical elements of Air, Water and Fire in the novel. I'm just disregarding the whole witty and edgy content of the novel and talking about something so silly. For Pete's sake! I'm a case magic realism myself

Totalitarian regime of happiness

It is a general opinion among the people who do their research in gender and language/discourse that women tell about their problems because they just want to tell them and not because they want to find solutions to them. I must say that although gender studies is not exactly my favourite subject, I agree with this. Men, on the other hand, are keen on suggesting answers to women's worries and it is said to be one of the reasons of miscommunication between the two sexes. I think that this way of acting is not exclusive to men. (And why should it be?) I know quite a few of examples from the female specimen who tend to do the same... And it's only natural.

I have been sad lately. I'm not exactly sure if 'sad' is the correct term. Confused, disturbed, mental, hysteric or edging towards a mental breakdown might be closer to my actual state of mind but 'sad' sounds much clearer and easier to grasp. So yes, I've been sad. I have cried my share of tears but they do not seem to help. In the last desperate attempt I reached out to the person who, in theory, should be the closest person in my life... and all I got was 'Well, it's not that bad really, is it? Think more positively!' and a bunch of solutions. In other words, not what I needed. There are no solutions, at least not outside my own little head and it seems that the little elf responsible for the maintenance work up there has left and all the emotions and fears just keep accumulating. I wish that it was this one simple and concrete problem that occupies my poor brain because then there could be a simple answer and concrete solution. Alas, it is not so.
The only solution is just to work through these emotions, file them and put them back into the labeled drawers where they belong to and restore my peace of mind. It just might take a while.

So until then, I am very sorry, but I will be a little bit sad. Life might not seem to be a flower to me but more like a thistle. And I do know that we all have problems and I do understand that mine are no more important than anyone else's but they are... mine. And I really cannot not be sad right now. I don't always have the energy to talk about mundane things and pretend to be okay. Just don't force me into your regime of happiness and don't punish me for being sad. It's hard enough, you know.

(By the way, nothing serious has happened. I just really have a thousand and one tiny (insignificant) things that bother me at the moment and my current state of mind is the sum of these.)

Survival, Enquiry and Sophistication

These are the three stages every civilization goes through according to Douglas Adams. All these phases are characterised, respectively, by three questions: How?, Why? and Where?. I believe that the human race has remained stuck in the second phase mistaking it for sophistication. We keep asking the why-questions and looking for a reason for every little thing, instead of just leaning back and enjoying the roller coaster ride. Some of us, though, have moved one, but majority are still inhabiting phase Enquiry, myself included.

There are so many why-questions that I keep asking and so few answers. At least I have now learned not to confuse this with sophistication. If anything, then the complete opposite. Yet I cannot stop asking these stupid questions. Why, oh why... I know there are no answers. There is no waking up in the middle of the night because you see the light on in the kitchen and as you make it there you see a wise old man sitting with a steaming cup of tea. As the clock ticks towards the morning you ask all the questions and he answers every single one of them. So when the morning rays wake you in a room filled with clarity and you see the two cups on the kitchen table, you feel totally calm and ready to move on with life. No more questions and you know exactly what you are going to do. Your life is all settled.
Alas, no such wise man exists and it doesn't matter how many cups of tea I drink, the most result I get is waking up in the middle of the night because a certain small room is calling...

These whys keep haunting me, day and night. The biggest and flashiest of these questions is: Why do I keep torturing myself with those questions? Maybe someday...

Red wine, mistakes, mythology

Another year has passed, and looking back, it has passed really quickly. Here’s a little traditional summary.

• The first half of my year was mostly spent on effort of trying to graduate from the university. So, I wrote my first (of many?) thesis on Thatcherism in literature on the basis of Hollinghurst’s brilliant Booker Prize winner The Line of Beauty. It was an effort but not as bad as I had feared. I was lucky to have a great supervisor and a topic that I think is interesting even right now. After all, all the hard work paid off when my reviewer decided on an A instead of a B that she wanted to give me, which meant that I graduated my Bachelor cum laude. A few days after my graduation, I also applied for MA programme and was accepted. So I’m still a student at the University of Tartu.
• You can say what you want about the hot summer we had here, but I personally found it horrible. I’m a Nordic person through and through. I can take +25C and more  temperatures for a few days but not for weeks! I was constantly grumpy and suffered from headaches and nausea and often had to take painkillers just to survive the day. I really hope this summer will be slightly cooler!
• Like a much needed breeze, my trip to England cooled me down in a good way. My first time travelling all by myself and I don’t want to have it any other way. I fell in love with Liverpool, met a lot of great people, drank considerable amounts of alcohol, did a few silly things, met friends I hadn’t seen for ages… Everything needed for a perfect trip!
• The autumn arrived with university again but somehow it felt a bit different. I felt that we are treated a bit more like equals and even the courses are much more interesting. I really feel that I want to go to the lectures and I sit there with all awe and wonder. I’m also lucky to have great coursemates (a few exceptions here and there but generally, they’re great) and I was able to be a conference assistant at the Canadian Studies Conference, which was not only interesting to listen to but also a good glance at organising side of the thing (not to mention the Canadian ambassador’s reception…).
• Although university was great this autumn, my body decided not to co-operate and after feeling completely empty again, I hurried to the doctor’s for a blood test and the results were record-breakingly bad: my haemoglobin level was 77 (normal begins with 120). I had a few additional tests made but there was nothing to explain why my body doesn’t acquire iron. Probably because of this, I fell ill in the middle of September and didn’t really get well until 2 months later. I had all sorts of cold, cough and even lost my voice twice! All this was quite devastating on my mental health as well, so I was down in the dumps more often then I was out of them.
• It was my birthday that help me get my peace of mind back again. In 2010, I decided to have as my present a long weekend in Northern England. I got to see 30 Seconds To Mars again and party with my international friends. It was all I could ask for and plenty more!
• The year ended covered with snow. Quiet Christmas time and even more quiet NYE. The last minutes of the year I spent all alone on top of a hill next to my house waiting for the fireworks…

This was it. In conclusion, I had a lot of time with myself and although I can’t say that I’ve signed an everlasting peace contract with myself but so far I’m feeling much at ease with myself.

My New Year’s resolutions are classical: be more active physically, do better at the university and be a better person to my friends and family.

Happy New Year!