In light of being a philosopher I must accept the description of myself as being a little slow. It never fails that I, for instance, arrive fashionably late only to learn that I’m not in synch with current fashion. This is all right, ’cause I do hold the classics in higher esteem anyway. The case was no different when I discovered that the home exams had been released three weeks before and I only had one week left to do it in. Then, having handed in a viable, though not excellent, paper on Donald Davidson and George M. Wilson I found myself suffering from several symptoms of post-examination stress syndrome (PESS). This means that the high level of concentration, the sadistic grip you’ve had on your consciousness, which you have constantly upheld during the period of writing have not yet ceased. And, having no subject matter to focus on, the intelligent becomes the fool.
For instance, a lady asked me for directions "to the center", when I was standing outside one of my regular hangouts the other day. «Analytically?» I asked, and continued, «in any case it would be in the middle», which at the time seemed like the most natural response to an irrational request.
I was going to buy myself an orange soda, Coca Cola’s Fanta or the Norwegian Solo, but spent nearly six minutes in internal conflict because they both had the same colour. I then picked out a bottle of Fanta, went to the cashier, changed my mind, went back and got a Solo instead.
For some reason I got the idea, by logical abduction, that what I was experiencing is akin to what women go through when they are pregnant. I mean, first they’ve been put through the horrifying aspect of performing sexual intercourse with a male member of the species (to my mind, every women is an undecided lesbian anime character), and then, adding insult to injury, they’re reduced from a once sought after sexual object to a mere baby-making factory. Deep down they are aware of this, and many pregnant women get depressed, which is why people are so nice to them; «Here, have a cookie» and that sort of thing.
And I also received a cookie from a kind waitress at the very same day.
But two hours later, after a thorough pit stop, I was neither pregnant nor depressed. Or a woman, for that matter.
After careful deliberation I have come to accept that I, in my present state and all things considered, am simply absent-minded. But given the value of truth to those matters of fact in the world that would make such a proposition valid; where has it gone? And, more importantly, how can I get it back before the exam tomorrow?
Dear diary, I deduce from my empty head ’tis all due to getting up at eight o’clock in the morning. It is wholly unnatural. And tomorrow I will have to get up before seven a.m. viz. 6:30 a.m! I don’t know how you do it. But then, you’re a damn book.
And today I successfully completed the semester! My attended exam ("school exam") was handed in at exactly 12:42 pm. I wrote about rationalism versus empiricism instantiated by messieurs René Descartes and David Hume with regards to their respective analytical methods and the results yielded thereby. I anticipated this topic, so I was well-prepared, and I had a good feeling when I left the premises.
To be honest, I was more worried about getting up so early in the morning than the actual exam. Had to train for a couple of days to even perceive the task surmountable. But it paid off in the end.
When I walked out of there, my penis was totally enormous.