Not a student, but still Shirking

Fun fact: driving a real car (as opposed to a crap one) with a cd player (as opposed to no audio of any kind) makes you almost enjoy driving. But not quite.

I'm killing time in the ol' Luther library (birthplace of drawings) for...oh, another couple hours, anyway. Either this computer clock's wrong, or I've been unobservant and not noticed half a dozen hours slip by. You can only play the piano so long, especially if strange people keep gawking at you and you haven't played in weeks and you're kind of falling asleep and you're just kind of half-heartedly watching your fingers to see where they'll go without really remembering where they're supposed to go. It's happening again right now while I'm typing this. Look at those fingers, what are they doing? It's one of those days, where I just don't care about much. Most days.

The reason I'm here in the first place is that I was obliged to go to a workshop that was supposed to help me with scholarship-applying. If by "help" they mean "point out what a tiny fraction of a chance I have," I guess it went fairly well. I almost suspect it was contrived just to convince me not to do grad studies. The general consensus was that there's no such thing as secular Anglo-Saxon poetry. This evening there's a lecture here at the university—I can't quite recall what it's supposed to be about, but at any rate it will be my first lecture since finishing school.

It's strange walking around the university and not belonging at all, though I've done quite a bit of wandering around here lately. I've discovered that the university doesn't love you unless you're a student (and then still probably not, but if you're not a student or in any other way connected to the university, you're doomed). They almost wouldn't let me take out some books again (I just wanted to practice shelving at home).