In an out-of-sorts mood, of sort
I highlight things when I read, otherwise I don't feel like I'm reading it. I like to think that the more I highlight, the more I'll understand it. Sometimes in philosophy, this results in either this or this.
Shops should not be allowed to sell me highlighters and coloured pens.
Highlighter embargo! Ban rAchel from fluorescent colours, because she'll mutilate academia with irresponsible rainbows.
OK, truthfully, I am not so very abysmal at highlighting, or comprehending my reading; what I am is in an irascible mood, and that makes me grumpy and fierce with fluorescence. It is one of those days where words swoop off the page and all I can think of is making the ultimate paper plane out of my lecture notes. But, dammit, I do wish certain philosophers wrote less like the pompous, verbose version of asdf;kja;elj;dljgljejovljdfa;crap.
As an aside of lukewarm pertinence: in the philosophy lecture today, there were no less than four eyelashes on my desk. Simply astounding. Evidently, lectures here in illustrious Warwick University can get so mindnumbingly boring that pulling out body parts can seem so attractive. Excuse me while I excavate my eyeballs with this spoon.