oloriel | A Rose Called By Another Name Is... a lot of rubble on the floor, really.

I have a bunch of yellow roses dangling from my bookshelf. They're the remains of a bouquet from my parents' collective 100th birthday (i.e., both of them turned 50) which I dried afterwards, but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that one of these roses somehow made its way into 'náro's paws yesterday. He played with it for a while, which was absolutely adorable, and then suddenly it had disappeared. And I thought of it no more.

Today I returned from university to find all the petals - and all the rest - of the rose strewn all over the living-room floor. Seems to have been a succesful hunt; the evil foe has been killed and obliterated...

In other news, the presentation seems to have gone fairly well. That is, I found it horrible, but as Prof. Kohnen didn't bitch about anything afterwards, I'll assume that it was ok.

In yet other news, my Medieval English Literature seminar of which I love to talk far too much is exactly what I had dreamed for when I began to study English Linguistics and Literature. Why did it take 8 semesters to finally find the perfect class? Alas (and weylawey). Today he started class off with having us guess quotations, and finished by recounting The Clerk's Tale. We had The Knight's Tale, The Miller's Tale and its sources, and lots of background information on Cambridge and Oxford and the enmity between them in between that. LOVE.

Quote of the Day:
Prof. Wilcockson: Do me a favour and read the Song of Solomon for our next lesson. I would say to you what I always tell my British students, but of course I do not need to use such filthy tricks on you - "Do read the Song of Solomon! Or no, don't until you're old enough! because it's erotic." Works perfectly, half an hour later they've all read it...