Carole’s had a tough day today.
Work was mental, and then she had an OU study night tonight which nearly tipped her over the edge.
It was like the poetry module all over again.
She called me for help via about three different mediums – loud sighing, which I would have heard if I’d been in the kitchen, a text message which I didn’t see because I was nowhere near my phone, and finally the Drop In feature of the home robot lady, which I regret ever enabling.
It is my job in times of crisis, to talk her down off a ledge. To talk her down from what ever academic precipice she’s on. To reassure her that no matter how bad things look, there are still people out there who were asking if they had to answer both questions on the latest assignment when the wording clearly said “CHOOSE ONE”. This is my role in it all.
So I waxed lyrical about how, when I was at Uni, I spent ages looking through statistics books for the right source to use in the discussion of the results of my tests on Simultaneous Contrast on VDU Screens. I took her on a word journey, telling her everything that I went through. It was a rollercoaster.
I didn’t. I just said it took me ages to find the right information. Which it did. I was in a library with those shelves with the turning wheels on, like you’re locking a submarine door. There was no-one else on that floor, such was the archaic nature of the bit I was in.
That is, though, literally my only experience with any of the essay writing or source material stuff. I did a practical course, I dissolved lab books. That was my wheelhouse. I didn’t do research and write wordy pieces about revolutions or whatever else Carole is doing.
I made colours in a test tube. Dyed some materials. Stuff like that. I made a light sensitive dye and used it to transfer an imagine from a negative of Jungle Book to a piece of paper which was, I hasten to add, outside of the remit of the experiment I was doing but I wanted to see how well the dye would work with small details – we had, up until that point, just been using larger items to mask off the dye.
I’ve run out of anecdotes.
And there’s still five more years of this malarky to go.
I’m going to have to start watching films with university stuff in them, to draw on those as examples. Like that time I studied really hard for some law exams so I could win back a boy. Remember that? Those were wild times.
At least this time she didn’t throw a text book at the wall.
So I think we’re winning.